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The <^Acme (^Magazine

A Home Magazine Published in Tkenton foh Trentonians.

Vol. i November, 1906 No. 1

Contents

Frontispiece — Portrait of Kose Stahl .... Photograph . . 8

Old Mansions of Trenton — 1. The Hermitage . . Francis B. Lee . 9

Caricature, Col. Tom Holmes Wm. E. Pedrick . 11

Portrait, Francis B. Lee Photograph . . 12

Some Trentonians and their Coats-of-Arms . . . Anonymous . . 13

Cartoon, Congratulations Wm. E. Pedrick . 14

Portrait, Hon. Frederick Gnichtel Photograph . . 15

Uncle Reuben and Family Seeing Trenton, Illustrated

joke Wm. E. Pedrick . 16

What and Who, Satirical poem Anonymous . . 16

An Enemy to the Czar, Short story . II -A. HSrberll Bawers . 17

Glimpses of Ruspa^^, .1 ij^f^lTX/- \J SSS- *J Btbi^frd 26

Nails, Short stoifr (J I . *— ! ^ \ . •* . . „Enwm E. Cqpwaf J" 33

Thanksgiving, jftpem g i Bertfta TC. #towa .% 37

Only a Babl'sidpair, S&or.t story I. .. . | Ele4njbr|M. Qagels .1 38

A Modern|AsB-Ma-Ta-I|a, :Short stpry . .' . i * . ^A.. ar PrJwe 40

Thanksgivt^, Irfustrated poem A. H. Bowers . 48

Rani the Soulless, Short story Margaret Stabler . 50

Dutchy, Short story, Illustrated CD. Goodman . 54

At the Bend, Short story, Ilustrated .... Frank H. Sweet . 58

A Successful Failure, Short story Percy T. Carnes 61

November, Poem Mary R. Ellis . . 66

A Moving Tale of Thanksgiving Anonymous . . 67

Morning and Evening, Poem . . . . . . Callie B. Marble . 69

Dr. Kirtley's Philosophy 70

Off the Main Road, Storiettes 71

Fabrics and Colors in Favor — An article on women's

apparel ............. 72

Low Cost Homes . . . . . . Wm. A. Radford . 75

Golden Dream March, Music W. M. Treloar . 77

A Smile or Two for You, Humorous 80

Yearly

Subscription, 50 Cents. Single Copy, 5

^e oAcme Publishing Company,

cents.

published monthly. 510 Masonic Temple, Trenton,

N. J.

Tcf1~(.c/LG

The cAcme oMagazine

Vol. I.

November, 1906.

No. l.

OLD MANSIONS OF TRENTON.

Photo by John H. Blackwood.

1— THE HERMITAGE.

By Frascis Bazley Lee.

ALF-HIDDEN among the
century old trees, lying-
in the valley of a little
stream over which West
State Street makes a long,
swinging curve, is "The
Hermitage," among the most famous
of all New Jersey's historical homes.
What "Morven" is to Princeton. "Lib-
erty Hall" to Elizabeth, the Cooper
houses to Camden, or the wrecks of the
Bonaparte mansions to Bordentown, so
is "The Hermitage" to Trenton, the
link of stone, brick and mortar, with its
associations, that binds us to almost for-
gotten days.

With the exception of the "Bar-
racks," no Trenton structure is more
intimately connected with the Revolu-
tion than is "The Hermitage" In the

oldest part of the building lived Gen-
eral Philemon Dickinson, a noted pat-
riot and there he came throughout the
war to seek in his country home a
respite from arduous military service,
performed in every part of the State.

But the connection of "The Hermit-
age" with the battle of Trenton is of
the most direct interest. It will be re-
called that when General Washington
planned the battle he selected Generals
Ewing and Cadwalader to command
bodies of troops which were to cross
the Delaware between Yardley and
Bristol and cut off the retreat of fugi-
tives from the Anglo-Hessian troops un-
der Col. Rail. It will be remembered
that such a crossing was not made and
that General Philemon Dickinson was
stationed at Yardley with a body of

Major Harry C. Valentine

men while his own
home ' ; The Hermi-
tage" was despoiled
by the Hessian hire-
lings.

While Col. Rail
was in Trenton he
had outposts sur-
rounding- the village.
One of these was
"The Hermitage"
where some 50 yag-
ers, in their green
uniforms with crim-
son lapels, were un-
der the command of
the Hessian lieuten-
ant, Frederick Wil-
liam Von Grothausen. There were
pickets in the house, around the green-
house, in a hut in the rear of the man-
sion, and in the vegetable garden, and
so important was the post, that a daily
report was made
to Col. Rail of the
condition of the
river front, and of
the movements of
Generals Dickin-
son's and Ewing's
men on the Penn-
sylvania side of
the stream.

For the better
part of a month
General Dickinson
could look across
the river and see
Hessians and Brit-
ish holding high carnival in his home.
What could not be eaten or stolen, was
burned or destroyed, after the manner
of the day and small wonder is it that
when upon the 26th of December, 1776,
at eight o'clock in the morning. General
Sullivan's brigade came rushing down
the winding river road, there was in-
stant attempt at retaliation.

In the melee all but one of the Hes-
sians escaped, some running toward
the outpost on Pennington avenue, and
others toward Trenton, with the Ameri-
cans in hot pursuit. The rest of the
story is well known, but, by night,
tradition has it, General Dickinson was
safe in "The Hermitage," vowing ven-
gance upon those who had stalled their
horses in his house and broken into his
wine cellar.

It was upon the 30th day of July,
1776, according to the Hunterdon
County records, that Brigade Major
Robert Hoops, or Hoopes, as the name
is sometimes spelled, sold to Major-Gen-
eral Dickinson, a tract of land contain-
ing 210 acres. This embraced "The
Hermitage" property which extended
from the Delaware river to the Scotch
road. Major Hoops married Martha,
daughter of Abraham Cottman. a law-
yer, the owner of the "Doudsdale"
plantation, situated on the Pennington
road near Calhoun street.

When General Dickinson bought the
"Hermitage" estate, the Declaration of
Independence had been promulgated
less than a month. It required no
little faith in the future success of the
struggle that General Dickinson should
plan his home in the very storm-center
of organized rebellion to the British

crown.

Modem homes built by Major Valentine, the present owner,
on the old Dickinson plantation.

But General
Dickinson was a
man of force and
action. Through-
out the Revolution
he was command-
ing officer of the
State Militia,
rendering notable
service during
June, 1778, in har-
rasing General
Clinton, on the
British march
from the Dela-
ware to the field of

Monmouth. General Dickinson became
a Brigadier-General shortly before at-
taining the age of 40. was a member of
the Provincial Congress of New Jersey,
and a member of the Committee that
drafted the patriotic Constitution of
1776. In 1777 he became Major-Gener-
al and was a United States Senator from
New Jersey, 1790-1793. He died at
"The Hermitage" in 1809 at the age of
70.

The family of General Dickinson oc-
cupied "The Hermitage," which dur-
ing the early years of the last century
was the scene of many notable events.
Men of national reputation in civil and
military life were guest of this family
whose fortunes have been so closely
allied with the history of Maryland and
New Jersey. The Dickinson ownership

of "The Hermitage," came to a close
on the first day of April, 1850, when
Philemon Dickinson II, and his wife
Margaret sold the estate to the late Ed-
ward J. C. Atterbury, a member of an
old New York family. As it was dur-
ing the Dickinson regine, "The Hermi-
tage" when owned by the Atterbnry's
was an assemblage place for people of
province. After the death of Mr.
Atterbury. which occurred in 1887, his
daughters controlled the property until

the 10th of May, 1904, when by deed,
the estate passed from the executors of
Mr. Atterbury into the possesion of
Major Harry C. Valentine. Thus, in a
period of nearly a century and a half
but four names — Hoops, Dickinson, At-
terbury and Valentine, appear in the
list of owners of "The Hermitage" — a
record which few mansions, equally his-
toric, can show in any one of the thir-
teen original states.

1=>£n> — —

Once upon a time "Colonel Tom" Holmes was called upon to appear at an after dinner talk-
fest. He developed a new type of humor, appealing so strongly to the public, that he is now
in demand as a popular speaker, and is "talkin* most every night," telling merry tales. Even
his minutes as Clerk of the Board of Health are so punctured with references to cafe parfait,
asparagus vinaigrette and pate de fois gras that the sending out of notices to cut down weeds
in back yards are retarded. Notice the turned down glass, the pained expression on "Tom's"
face shows that the carbonated water has "just given out."

Some Trentonians and their Coats of Arms.

Evidences of aristocratic descent in the old families
of the capital city.

*§86»$K$KERE and there' throughout

ifltf «", «8i Trenton, are silent, cher-
• *• J J 95 ished evidences of the au-
attsaaKg»g tiquity of some of the fam-

SRSTSRJSs ily names that have help-
ed to make the city fam-
ous. Such mementoes are nothing
more than an incised piece of battered
silver, a time-stained sampler, a half-
worn signet ring or a crudely painted
design on the front leaf of a Bible.
But in whatever form the evidences may
be found, they tell the story of race and
creed, and of how hundreds of Tren-
tonians are descended from the Hol-
landers and Huguenots of New York,
the Cavaliers of Virginia, the Puritans
of Massachusetts and the Quakers of
Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

These reminders of the past are
representations of coats-of-arms grant-
ed to some direct ancestor of a local
family, who having borne them by
right, for some distin-
guished service to his
saff PJSsli^P country, transmitted
them to his American
posterity. For this rea-
son, in spite of trials
and tribulations, inci-
dent to colonization
and settlement, when
the old merged into the
.new, and in spite of the
levelling tendencies of
the Revolution, the var-
ious objects perpetuat-
ing the symbolism of
ancient days, have been
preserved.

There are many fam-
ilies in Trenton, old set-
7+led town that it is, and
the meeting place of
the colonial civilization
of the North, the Middle
and the South, who are
entitled to bear arms.
From among them a
choice has been made
VANvoRMEEsof these heirlooms of

S T O CKTON

royal creation, indica-N|
tive not only of the
prominence of the fam-
ilies selected, but, as
suggested, of the fact
that Trentonians trace
lines of descent from
families whose names
appear in the records
of every one of the
thirteen colonies.

In the city of Trenton
no family name is more
frequently spoken than
that of Cadwallader.
Thomas Cadwallader
was first burgess or
mayor of Trenton under
the charter of 1746 and
was the chief contribu-
tor to the city's first
public library. His de-
scendents made Tren-
ton's great public park
a possibility. T h i s
family was of Welsh
origin.

The first public enterprise north of
Burlington, when the Quakers settled
in the valley of the Delaware, was Mah-
lon Stacy's mill, established about 225
years ago, in Trenton at the mouth of
the Assanpink creek. Around Mahlon
Stacy and his mill cluster all authentic
history and tradition of the English
occupanev of "ye fades of ye De La
Ware."

As closely associated with the history
of the nation as with that of Trenton
is the name of Stockton. Owners of
great plantations in Burlington and in
Princeton, the Mercer County branch
of the family furnished among a score
of men with national reputations, a
signer of the Declaration of Independ-
ence, a commodore of the United States
navy and a United States Senator from
New Jersey.

From Scotland came the Livingstons.
Earls of Linlithgow and Calendar. Ex-
iled from Scotland to Holland, the an-

s t a cy

cestor established a line whose manorial
estates on the Hudson rivaled in import-
ance those of the Van Rensellaers,
which latter family is locally represent-
ed upon collateral branches.

"While the great seal of New Jersey
was prepared from September, 1776, to
May, 1777, the Livingston Arms borne
by Revolutionary Governor William
Livingston were used as the Great Seal
of the newly created State.

Of Dutch stock are the Schuylers,

who were land owners in New York as
well as in Belleville and in Burlington.
Their names were closely associated
with the French and Indian "War and
the Revolution.

Another Hollander was Steven Coerte
Van Voor Hies, the name being- usually
written Voorhees or Voorhies, who set-
tled in Long Island and was the an-
cestor of one of the most widely scatter-
ed Dutch families in America.

{Continued in the December Number.)

CONGRATULATIONS.

HON. FREDERICK W. GNICHTEL.

A* Mayor of the city of Trenton, Frederick W. Gnichtel has s?iven proof of
his capacity to lead public thought and action in the development of the
municipality. He did much in this direction as a member of Common Coun-
cil and for this reason he has been in the public eye. His Honor is an expert
court stenographer and member of the bar and with his manifold duties as
public official and practitioner, is consequently a very busy man.

T^MOr

UNCLE REUBEN AND HIS FAM-
ILY SEEING TRENTON.

Aunt Sakah Ann, (catching sight of
the gilded f reman infront of the city hall)
— "Oh Reuben ! Look at thet gold sta-
tute. Thet must be wuth a hull heap
o' money."

UncIjE Reuben, {w7ia is rich in &r.-
perieitce)— ."Shucks Sarah Ann ! They
can't fool your Uncle Rube ! Thet's
made o' the same stuff's thet gold brick
I bought in Noo York, last summer.
D'ye see, it'stuniin tli' same color as
thet brick did, too."

WHAT AND WHO.

What is it that went to sleep,

Years and years ago,
.Just as soon as things woke Up,

And the town began to grow?
Went to sleep and stayed asleep,

And no attention paid
To anybody or anything?

"Pis the Trenton Board of Trade.

Who is it that always sees,

A chance to rave and rant,
When Common Council's holding forth,

And he wants to lead but can't?
Who's always looking for a chance

To fire a campaign gun,
No matter whether it kicks or not .'

'Tis Captain Walsh's son.

Who is it that feels his oats,

Every day 'n the week,
And keeps the wheels of th' machine

Greased so that they don't squeak?
Who thinks that he's a soldier brave.'

Who'd rather fight than work?
And isn't much at either one?

'Tis our natty City Clerk.

AN ENEMY TO THE CZAR

THE STIRRING EXPERIENCE OF A YOUNG ENGLISHMAN

By A. HERBERT BOWERS

T

Ik^H-

HE study of "Personals" in
our metropolitan dailies
has long been a hobby of
mine. It pleases me to recon-
struct in fancy the various
dramas suggested by their
meager wordings. Sometimes,
indeed, I have by their means
been enabled to follow an in-
trigue, or simple love affair,
from its inception to an end —
tragic or otherwise.

Harmless in itself, this hobby,
or passion — which you will — has
in one case, at least, been pro-
ductive of good ; and, in telling
the story, disguised as it will be
by fictitious names, I violate no
confidence, I invite no animus.

It was some eight months ago
that I developed an unusual in-
terest in a series of advertise-
ments emanating from "Vera."
They suggested a mysterious dis-
appearance.

"Wanted — Information as to
the whereabouts of John Silcote
Bosanquet. Liberal reward. Ap-

plv to V. G., in West St.,

New York."

By thunder, I have it! I ex-
ulted. John Bosanquet was the
name of that young Englishman
whom I had met more than once

jWavjcjtt^t.

i8

AN ENEMY TO THE CZAR.

in my casual wanderings, and who, when
I had last seen him, was, to all appear-
ances, under arrest !

My interest in the matter now grew
vivid and personal. It took me less than
no time to synchronize approximately the
date of his arrest and that of the initial
appearance of the "Personals" request-
ing John Silcote Bosanquet to communi-
cate with "Vera." I was on the track
of a mystery, and would follow it up.

An hour later, I was the recipient on
hehalf of a beautiful girl of many tear-
ful protestations of gratitude, which I
felt to be entirely unearned. Her prom-
ise that I should learn the sequel was to
me much more than an equivalent for
the information that chance and a hob-
by for reading "Personals" had enabled
me to furnish her — a promise born of
faith in the missing lover.

For the girl's sake, I devoutly hoped
that this faith might be justified, but the
hope grew dim as the weeks evanesced
without a prospect of that promise being
redeemed.

Imagine, then, my surprise to receive
one evening a gentleman's card en-
graved: "John Silcote Bosanquet" to
find myself, a moment later, shaking
hands effusively with my one-time ac-
quaintance ! He was paler than he had
been, and, I fancied, thinner. There
were, too, unmistakable signs of suffer-
ing on his handsome face. But, he ir-
radiated happiness. I knew beyond a
doubt that his sufferings were of the
past.

"I come to redeem Miss Grant's prom-
ise," he began.

"Not if the subject is painful," I pro-
tested.

"The experience has been painful," he
submitted, "but its narration is not. Be-
sides, as you will see later, I owe you
more than that."

I bowed, and set out the concomitants
proper to the telling and enjoyment of a
story.

"It was your information," he said,
"which enabled Miss Grant to convince
the authorities that a possible miscar-
riage of justice had occurred, and set in

motion the forces that eventually proved
it."

"I am very glad," I said with truth.

"I was out of work, at the end of my
resources, and without prospects," began
the young man ; "Miss Grant's belief in
me was my sole comfort ; her affection
my only asset. Even this last had be-
come, just for the moment, a source of
embarassment. I was due to visit her
on the morrow ; I had no clean linen ; and
the redemption of my laundry was out
of the question. I decided to spend my
ultimate nickel on a letter to my sweet-
heart, Vera Grant, from whom I had
zealously concealed my true condition.
Written in the Post Office the next lay,
it was simply a tissue of affection's lies,
assuring her of my well-being, and ac-
counting for my failure to keep the even-
ing's engagement by a pressure of bus-
iness.

The letter mailed, I directed my foot-
steps through the busy crowd towards a
distant exit.

Coming towards me down the far cor-
ridor, into which I had by this tfme
turned, was a tall man, a swarthy man,
black of whiskers, loud of necktie.

He scrutinized me closely, and
dropped his great pocketbook. I picked
it up. It was fat and prosperous look-
ing; but held not one whit of tempta-
tion for me. With a glow of conscious
rectitude, I hastened after its owner, and
offered it to him. I say offered because,
so far from taking it, he looked at me
with an expression of puzzled amaze-
ment, and made of his whole person a
gesture of negation. Then he hurried
on.

For some moments I stood, starinsf
stupidly at the stranger's gift. I no
longer doubted that its dropping had
been intentional. Who was this stranger ?
Why should he design to give me any-
thing? Why employ so roundabout a
method of presentation? Was I dream-
ing? These were some of the questions
that chased one another across my brain.

A peremptory tap on the shoulder
brought me to earth. I started and
looked up. A bulky man, florid of com-
plexion, with close-cropped hair and

A. HERBERT BOWERS.

19

moustache, was standing beside me.
There was no taking him for anything
other than a plain-clothes officer.

"Give me that, and come along!" he
commanded.

"But " protested.

"Shut up, and be quiet!" he threat-
ened.

"At this time the corridor was not so
deserted as it had been ; and, I noticed,
one or two people were regarding us
curiously. Wherefore, blessed or cursed,
as you will, with all an
Englishman's aversion to
unpleasant publicity, I
obeyed without further /
protest.

" 'That's right !' my
captor grimly approved. \

"Outside the building,
to my intense relief, a
private hack awaited us.
I hung my head and
hurried to it ; but — as I
then thought, luck was
against me. You hap-
pened to be passing, and,
I could not doubt, rec-
ognized both myself and
my most equivocal posi-
tion.

"In truth, of the
mingled sensations which
that day assailed me,
shame was by far the
strongest ; so that, dur-
ing the drive that fol- Vera Grant.
lowed, I huddled into the
corner of the hack, and paid no attention
whatever to the course it took. Nor did
I recover one atom of my self-respect be-
fore, in a semi-dazed condition, I was
conducted into a room in which I found
my friend of the red necktie* similarly
situated. Here my wits began to re-
turn. It was a large room, I noticed,
whose walls were lined with bookshelves.
Its two flat-top desks were strewn with
documents suggestive of lawyers ; and at
that fartherest from the door sat two
men. One, clean-shaven, stern-featured,
gray, was evidently American ; of the
other, blond, heavilv moustached and

\

rolling a cigarette, I was not so sure. A

foreigner, however, I judged him to be.
" 'I am perfectly satisfied,' the first
was saying, 'that the offense is extradita-
ble. All that now remains is the identi-
fication of the prisoners.'

' 'There should be no difficulty about
that, I imagine,' replied the other, with
the faintest possible accent.

"As a preliminary to this last, the judge
—I presume he was a judge — instructed
the officers to relate the circumstances at-
tending our capture, which being done,
the foreigner remarked :
" 'My information, you
doubtless observe, was
exact.'

"The judge nodded.
" 'There was a pack-
age, or a pocketbook,
perhaps ?' queried the
other.

" 'Here, Sir!' respond-
ed the officer in charge
of myself.

"It proved to be full
of money, and, in addi-
tion contained a paper
at which the foreigner
peered curiously.

" 'A new cypher !' 1
heard him mutter vexed-

ly.

"In the meantime, the
judge selected from the
papers in front of him
a voluminous document ;
and, after glancing at
them, queried in louder
tones than those which he had previously
employed :

"Alexis Karkiloff?'
"My fellow-prisoner, with his warders,
immediately, stepped forward, shrugging
his shoulders, and making a grimace ex-
pressive as might be of the futility of
resistance. Then he spoke a few words
in a language which I judged to be Rus-
sian.

" 'He acknowledges his identity,' ex-
plained the foreigner at the table.

"The judge, thereupon, made a ges-
ture of dismissal. Karkiloff stepped to
one side.

" 'Vassilis Gravinski?' called his honor,

>»>

20

AN ENEMY TO THE CZAR.

glancing from another set of papers to from the sense of unreality that weighed

my unhappy self. me down.

"I remained impassive. He motioned "'Marks!' continued the judge, 'The

me forward. initials V. G. tatooed in blue on the in-

" 'Be so good, General, as to ask him/ ner surface of the left forearm !'

said his Honor to his colleague at the "Again he motioned to the officer,

table, 'if he denies that this is his name.' Obedient, the latter removed my coat

"Instead of replying, the foreigner and turned back the left shirt sleeve,

pointed to a certain spot on the document "The fatal letters stood revealed. In

under consideration. I indignantly burst an access of sentimentality, I had one

out: day thus marked myself with my sweet-

"'I certainly do!' heart's initials.

"The judge, for the moment ignoring "A sweat poured off my brow — the

my denial, scanned the writing before cold sweat of fear,

him. Presently, he looked up and nodded "Once again the foreigner smiled,

to him whom he had called General in a The toils were closing fast upon me. I

significant manner. The latter had mean- commenced an incoherent protest, which

while been smiling at me in an exasperat- from the first I knew to be useless. There

inglv tolerant and self-satisfied manner. was purpose in the judge's eye; the lines

" 'You say that Vassilis Gravinski is of his mouth were fixed ; he made up his

not your name?' the judge now ques mind. He motioned me to silence,

tioned. " 'I think,' he observed, 'that there will

" 'I do !' be no miscarriage of justice if I order the

"'What is you namre?' commitment of both prisoners until such

" 'John Silcote Bosanquet ! I am Eng- time as we may hear from the Secretary

lish.' of State.'

"'So?' incredulously. 'We will pro- "'And, Sir/ urged the foreigner in

ceed with the identification.' subdued tones, 'you will doubtless see

"He commenced reading— the propriety of preventing their having

" 'Vassilis Gravinski, a native of Po- communication with the outside world,

land.... born in.... hum! Educated in Once their arrest becomes known, all

England. . . .speaks that language like a °u!" efforts io"tl}e caP^re °f thfir co n"

native ! . . . . hum .... yes ! Height, sixty- f ede,rates wou d Jf rendered useless,

nine and one-half inches....! Weight, Qulte so ! „ &feuSOJ , T

one hundred sixty-two pounds ! Jhat ™as al ■ ?til dazef Juwas re"

Complexion, clear....! Hair, dark- conducted to the hack, and thence to

brown, wavy. . . . ! Eyes, blue. . . . !' Pnso?- , How lon,f J remai™;d, closely

,,_ , r , -r ■ i guarded, in my cell I am unable to state.

Between each of the specifications, he To all my entreatieS) passionate> abject,

had darted at me a searching glance. tQ be allowed tQ communicate with per.

They, one and all, fitted' me to a dot ; sons of knQwn respectability, the warders

but hitherto I had experienced no whit turned lmresponsive ear> Bribery was

of uneasiness. When, however, he can- out of the question. T soon lapsed into

inue a state bordering on insanitv, and made

' 'A jagged scar on the left side of no effort whatever to keep track of the

the head !' I felt a cold shiver of appre- ghastly hours.

hension passing over me. Such a scar s "Towards davbreak, perhaps, seven .. .

there was; the result of a boyish stone- eight. . .nine. . .'ten days after my incar-

throwing episode. ceration, the turnkey entered the cell.

"He motioned to the officer, who, lift- With him was one of the foreign police

ing my hair, revealed the damning evi- officers whom I have had occasion to

dcnce. mention.

"I was speechless. Even the foreign- "'Get up!' commanded the former, as

er's irritant smile failed to rouse me I lay blinking on my bunk, Perforce, I

The Prince Greeted Me With Unruffled Ease And Charming Courtesy.

22

AN ENEMY TO THE CZAR.

obeyed, and, before I realized what was
being done, found myself handcuffed to
the representative of the law from over
the seas.

"So, I was, as I had begun to suspect,
a desperate criminal ! The muzzle of a
huge revolver, which my companion kept
in hand and fully exposed to view dur-
ing the ensuing drive emphasized the
fact.

"The drive terminated at the wharf of
the 'Compagnie General Transatlantique,'
where against the gray of approaching
dawn, loomed darkly mysterious the im-
mense bulk of an ocean liner.

"We were evidently not unexpected.
As soon as the hack came to a stand-
still, two men walked rapidly down the
vessel's gangway and approached its
window. A curt question, as curt a re-
sponse, the transference of a paper from
my guard to one of his questioners,
served to convert me into a passenger
aboard the steamship, 'La Touraine,' en
route to St. Petersburgh.

"This, at that time, of course, I merely
surmised ; but the surmise was correct.

"As may be imagined, I was not hap-
py; but, how I did luxuriate in the bless-
ed cleanliness of the second class cabin
into which I was locked by my goaler
after an admonitory growl ; which was,
by the way, all Russian to me.

"As the days went on, too, despite my
desperate condition, my spirits gradually
rose. The food supplied me was good
and, in quantity, generous ; I passionate-
ly love the sea; and, though at first in-
clined to resent what he deemed my
feigned ignorance of the Russian tongue,
my Cerberus proved not unduly harsh.

" 'Why,' I asked him one morning in
French, for the hundredth time, as we
were, taking on deck, too early for the
passengers to be out, the daily exercise
prescribed for me — 'Why am I being
taken to Russia ? What are the charges
to be preferred against me?'

"To this question, I anticipated no an-
swer other than a shrug of the should-
ers and that accession of unfriendliness
which had always attended my previous
efforts in the conversational line. As far
as the shrug was concerned, I was not

disappointed ; but, to my surprise, he
turned towards me and said in tones al-
most cordial :

" 'My friend, I do not know why you
persist in addressing me in the French
tongue and refusing to meet my many
advances in our own.'

"FIv;re I nearly spoiled all by protest-
ing my inability to understand a word of
Russian. He shut up like a clam. I in-
wardly cursed myself for a sublimated
specimen of idiocy. But after a frown-
ing pause, he resumed with his express-
ive shrug:

" After all, it's none of my business ;
and, though you are — what you are — I
cannot help entertaining for you a per-
sonal liking. You were extradited for
that unpunished crime of yours, murder ;
but you are wanted in Russia for — again
a shrug — you know what.'

" 'Tell me,' I pleaded.

" 'For conspiracy to murder his Im-
perial Majesty, the Czar, together with
all his ministers.'

"I gasped.

"I I to murder — the Czar!'

" 'Exactly ! To your hand was assign-
ed the death of the Little Father.'

"A shuddering exclamation escaped
me, an exclamation of horror — horror at
the desperation of my personal plight.
My companion, mistaking, glanced hur-
riedly around. We were absolutely
alone. He laid his hand upon my should-
er.

" 'See, my friend,' he said, 'I was cer-
tain that my instincts were right. You
are not the wretch you would seem to
be. Circumstances have led you astray.
I will give you a chance. While I hold
my arm rigid — so — give a sudden up-
ward and outward jerk. The chain will
snap. Then run and jump overboard.
I will make no effort to prevent you.
Indeed, I will make it appear that you
felled me with the iron. You will die a
man's death ! Here's my hand on it !'

"I grasped it ; thinking only of the
kindly intention which prompted the
words, and being, for the moment, more
than half inclined to take his advice. He
looked into my eyes. I shook my head.

A. HERBERT BOWERS.

23

" 'I am not Vassilis Gravinski," I said,
I will face the music'

"He did not believe me, of course.
He dropped my hand. He thought me a
coward, as well as a criminal.

*' 'I should advise you,' he said coldly,
'to recall your mother tongue when
questioned by his Serene Highness,
Prince M. He has many ingenious
methods of bending to his will refractory
prisoners.'

"Afterwards, he scarcely spoke to me
before we reached St. Petersburgh. Then
he voiced a fear that had doubtless jour-
neyed with him since that memorable
night.

' 'You will not betray me ?' he asked.

"I smiled into his eyes.

" 'I am not Vassilis Gravinski,' I said.

"The words were but an exact repeti-
tion of those that had caused him to de-
spise me ; yet, he seemed satisfied. With
the old shrug that I had missed of late,
he said :

" 'Well ! Good luck, my friend !'

"I was sorry to see him go when, his
mission accomplished, he handed me
over to the St. Petersburgh gaolers. It
seemed, in truth, as if I were letting go
of the one strand of human sympathy
that, worn thin though it was, still held
me above the sea of adversity into which
sudden shipwreck had cast me helpless.

"Left in my cell, the sense of isolation
became almost unbearable ; but, luckily
I was not destined to endure it long. We
had arrived at the Russian capital one
evening after dark ; and, the following
morning, I was haled before, I presume,
His Highness, Prince M.

"There was no mistaking the character
of the man with whom I had to deal.
Busily writing, he ignored my entry ;
and I thus had leisure to study him.
Small and wiry, his hair and moustache
were white as snow ; with features aqui-
line and aristocratic, his lips were thin
and firmly closed ; born to exalted posi-
tion, a lifetime of autocratic power had
left its stamp upon him, he was dis-
tinctly a man not to be thwarted.

"He looked up suddenly. Straight
from his work, his eyes held mine. He
snapped at me a question; to which,

failing to understand, I, of course, made
no answer.

"Again came the question, no louder
than before ; but, with it leapt such a
flame from his eyes that I involuntarily
broke into my one stand-by, French :

" 'I do not understand. Monsieur.' I
said.

"Had the remark never been made, he
could not have heeded it less. He re-
peated his question.

"Always impatient of badgering, I
threw prudence to the winds.

" 'You are wasting time,' I said.

"That he understood, I was well as-
sured ; for despite his habit of self-con-
trol, his eyes glinted, and he commenced
to tap impatiently on the table with the
resilient point of a steel paper-knife. Nor
did he repeat his question.

"After a moment's hesitation, however,
he barked at me several others in rapid
succession ; watching me the while as a
cat watches the mouse, that, fully in its
power, it has for the moment loosed in or-
der to prolong the sport of killing. Finally,
finding his efforts abortive, he desisted
from his questioning as abruptly as he
had begun it ; and, having dwelt on me
some moments with a musing regard,
addressed in the blandest tones a few
words to the 'official in charge of my es-
cort. This last, after the very stiff est
of military salutes, signified me that the
audience was over.

"I was marched out ; but not to my cell.
Instead, I found myself in a large room,
in which were all manner of strange and
forbidding appliances. With one of
these I was destined to make most in-
timate acquaintance. It was, in fact, a
variation of the triangle to which in the
good old days England's military and
naval offenders were ofttimes strapped
for the better administration of the 'cat-
o-nine-tails.' At a word from the escort's
commander, I was seized, stripped to the
dons, and on my exposed shoulders, fell
a blow of the terrible knout. On coming
to I found myself in my cell bunk where
I remained unmolested for some davs,
when guards entering my cell conducted
me to a splendid mansion. My guard,

24

AN ENEMY TO THE CZAR.

hitherto silent, said : 'Monsieur will rind
all conveniences. He will, Monsieur Le
Prince trusts, — refresh himself. This —
pointing to the button of an electric bell
— will summon any needed assistance.'

"He bowed and retired. The action
was significant. I tried the door. It
opened. None was in sight. I was
alone, unguarded, free! Shall 1 confess
it?1 I wept like a child.

"The paroxysm, however, was of short
duration. I began to look around me.
The apartment was large and handsome-
ly furnished. Mirrors were everywhere.
In one of them I caught a reflection of
myself, a ragged scarecrow, pallid, un-
kempt. The sight recalled me. I was
here to renovate. Decidedly I needed it.

"Everything, I found, from a suit of
clothes to the minutest requirement of
an elaborate toilet, had been provided.
Through an open door, gleamed the
white marbles and silver furnishings of
a superb bathroom. When I emerged
thence, an hour later, the mirror no long-
er reflected an object of repulsion. A
gentleman, in a gentleman's garb, looked
at me thereout with satisfied eyes.

"What next? I touched the bell.

" 'Monsieur will doubtless take break-
fast !' asserted he who appeared in an-
swer to my summons, and I did not de-
mur.

"Picture, if you can, the contrast be-
tween my late prison fare and that ex-
quisite meal with its dainty service!
imagine how I lingered at the snowy
table, with its silver epergnes, its costly
appurtenances, and fresh-cut flowers !

"It was with a sigh of regret that I at
length arose ; and, almost immediately,
my companion of the drive stood in the
dorway.

" 'Monsieur Le Prince craves the hon-
or of an audience,' he said. 'The car-
riage waits.'

"Now, I am not vindictive ; and, on the
way back, my feelings towards His Se-
rene Highness underwent a considerable
change. Feeling that my troubles were
over, I could not but be grateful to him
for the betterment of my physical be-
ing; not to mention the delicacy of his
method in bringing it about. After all,

1 thought, he must have supposed me
contumacious and insolent, as well as
criminal, and, accrding t his lights, de-
serving of the utmost severity.

"But, 1 confess, now that the tables
were so completely turned, I did look for-
ward to the coming interview with con-
siderable zest. Apology, I fancied, would
sit ill upon the Prince's shoulders.

"Never was I more completely de-
ceived. Alone when I entered, he arose
from his seat, and greeted me with un-
affected ease and charming courtesy.

" 'I am truly glad, Mr. Bosanquet,' he
said in perfect English, 'to have this op-
portunity of proving to you that I am
not quite a monster of cruelty ; that, if I
erred, I erred with good excuse.'

"Here he tapped a bell that stood on
his table.

"The door opened to admit, in charge
of two warders, a manacled prisoner. He
turned towards me. I stared in dumb
amazement. I beheld the very wretch
that had looked at me from out the
mirror not two hours ago. No less
astounded, he stared at me.
' 'Good God !' he gasped.
' 'Here,' continued His Highness, 'is
my — is our excuse for the injustice that
has been done you. I could not do other-
wise than believe you to be V'assilis Gra-
vinski, than believe that you understood
every word addressed to you in Russian.
I looked upon you as a noxious criminal,
a reptile to be crushed, to be tortured
into submission. You — so it seemed to
me — would not speak. Speak 1 deter-
mined you should. But, when you
claimed your birthright as an English-
man, you words rang true ; and, despite
the evidence of my senses, I determined
to give you the benefit of the doubt until,
at all events, further proof of your iden-
tity were forthcoming. Two days later,
I received by cable news of the capture
of Vassilis Gravinski.'

"He signed to the warders to retire
with the prisoner.

' T much regret,' this last observed in
courteous tones, before he turned away,
'that your resemblance to my unfortunate
self should have been the means of plac-
ing you in so scurvy a plight.'

A. HERBERT BOWERS,

25

"I could but admire the perfect sang-
froid of one over whom loomed so darkh
the shadow of death, whose haggard fea-
tures bore testimony to present suffer-
ing and ill usage, and who, yet, felt con-
strained to voice his regrets for another's
sufferings, even though due in a meas-
ure to. himself. I could not bring my-
self, however, to speak to a murderer
and would-be regicide. I acknowledged
his speech with the very faintest inclina-
tion of the head. After his withdrawal,
the Prince resumed:

" 'Thus, sir, it is now mine to hope
that you make generous allowance for
my disastrous error, and will see fit to
accept in amity this hand which I am
glad to offer you.'

"In a moment, his personal share in
my indignities was forgotten, and, with
hand clasped in his I so assured him.

' 'That is good !' he affirmed. 'Let us
be seated ! One can talk more easily.'

"By this time, I had succumbed en-
tirely to that charm of manner which is
possessed to so eminent a degree by the
grandees of Russia.

" 'I have to thank you — ,' I began.

" 'Don't mention it, I pray you,' he in-
terrupted. 'There are matters of greater
moment to be discussed.'

" 'You will, doubtless, have wondered,'
he went on, 'why, having learned so long

ago of the true Gravinski's arrest, I failed
to bring about with greater promptitude
your own release. There were several
reasons, my good friend ! Chief of these
was a desire to be assured that we were
making no repetition of the previous
blunder. I had, moreover, in the mean-
time, laid your case before His Imperial
Highness, the Czar, whose commands I
awaited before venturing to act. These
last and Gravinski arrived this morning;
so that it is now both my duty and my
pleasure to carry out the august com-
mands that have been laid upon me.'

" 'To begin with, my Imperial Master
directs that I express to you his deepest
personal concern for the pain and hu-
miliation that have been mistakenly put
upon you. He further directs that, as
some slight compensation for the loss and
inconvenience occasioned by enforced ab-
sence from your personal concerns — here
I could scarcely suppress a grin — you be
paid from his privy purse the sum of
fifty thousand roubles.'

"I did not speak. I could not. Fifty
thousand roubles ! I was seeing visions.

" 'And,' the Prince concluded, with a
humorous twinkle, 'I am sure that His
Imperial Highness is in hopes — as also
am I — that you will not make of the af-
fair an international episode.' '

GLIMPSES OF RUSSIA

FROM ST. PETERSBURG TO MOSCOW
By S. R. STODDARD

BUILD me a rail-
road," said
Nicholas II, Czar of
all the Russiaa,
"from my ancient
capital town even to
our own city of Pe-
tersburg."

And straightway
there was hurrying
in all depart-
ments. The
aid of foreign
countries was
invoked, plans
were submit-
ted, showing
the country through which the road was
to pass, and the towns from which it
might draw sustenance, and, after the
manner of roads anxious to get custom
from various quarters, it ran in devious
ways to touch important points.

And when the Czar was shown the
plan, he said, "Yes, it is a most beauti-
ful map of my country, but what is this
black line twisting like a snake across
it?"

"Sire! That is the railroad which is
to be," they said, "and it runs thus and
so that it may touch important points,
and also that it may avoid the hills and
morasses that lie between."

The Czar said, "Where is my ancient
capital ?"

The minister placed his finger on the
site of Moscow.

"And where is our St. Petersburg?"
This also was pointed out.

And the Czar said, "Bring me a ruler
— one that is straight," he continued,
"for a ruler should not be crooked."

Then the minister and all that were in
waiting smiled out loud, for they per-
ceived that this was a Royal Joke.

Then the Czar placed the ruler that
was brought to him upon the map with
one end at Moscow and the other at St.
Petersburg, and with a pencil and his
own royal hand he drew a black line
straight from one point to the other and
said,

"Build it there."

And the railroad from St. Petersburg
to Moscow is said to be the longest iron
tangent in the world.

It is a pretty fiction about a straight
line, but the curves are so gradual that it
comes near enough the truth for all ordi-
nary purposes. It is crooked all the
same. Yet marshes have been filled and
notches cut through low hills, practicallv
as the Czar ordered, a tangent four hun-
dred and three miles in length, extending
between the two great cities of Russia.

The out-going station is substantial,
but not particularly imposing. The rules
for the shipment of passengers appeared
sensible as exemplified in our case. Re-
gard for the safety of travelers as well

S. R. STODDARD.

27

as their comfort seemed a special part
of the plan. It is understood that in
Russia, the responsibility of officials is
considerable, for failure in duties or in
case of accident, the officials are actual-
ly punished — a thing which may surprise
Americans, and seem entirely uncalled
for by railroad officials generally.

We went by special train of sleepers.
Our loyal Americans discovered many
things American, but to me it appeared a
combination of American and English.
The run was not excessively rapid, but
we made fully as good time as the aver-
age night trains in the United States
make, taking fourteen hours in the pas-
sage between the two cities. The coaches
which we understood to be first-class,
were not nearly so elegant in finishing or
furnishing as our Pullmans, but much
more comfortable. They were shorter
than the American car and divided into
compartments, each of which contained
four comfortable berths running cross-
wise of the car with a corridor along one
side from which they were entered. The
upper berths were put up out of the way
during the day and let down for the
night. Each compartment had a window
affording light and ventilation, under
which was a small table to be used for

writing or to hold

luncheon or for any
other purpose de-
sired, with portable
steps to be pulled out
and used in mount-
ing to the upper
berths. Each com-
partment was heated
with steam and con-
tained a thermome-
ter by which the oc-
cupants could tell
without outside ad-
vice, whether they
were freezing or
baking, and regulate
the heat accordingly.

There was also a second thermometer
arranged with bulb inside and the stem
and reading plate outside, so that when
the door was fastened for the night, the
trainmen could tell the temperature of

the room, and regulate it to suit the aver-
age comfort of the occupants without
asking a lot of officious fool questions
with a view to possible tips in the morn-
ing.

The joad-bed was well ballasted and
well-kept and the watch stations at in-
tervals along the way as neat as play-
houses kept for show alone. The station
where we stopped for breakfast was
clean, the service, if somewhat noisy, as
nearly perfect as could be asked. The
waiters were in dress suits and served us
in white gloves ! Think of it you who
have imagined Russia as inhabitated
solely by furry, fuzzy, woozy people, who
never wash their hands or faces or comb
their hair.

Breakfast consisted of coffee with rolls
and butter as is the custom generally.
Russian tea is served as an extra — a
clear tea with a lump of sugar and a
slice of lemon. Hotel breakfasts ordi-
narily, furnish eggs in addition. The
Russian luncheon is the same as the
breakfast, with the addition of soup and
a dish of birds, perhaps. Dinner is the
formal meal of all eastern countries,
served in courses, consisting ordinarily
of soup, fish, fowl and a roast, followed
by puddings, ices, fruits, nuts and coffee.

Our Special.

Tea is always extra and served to order.
The universal wood of the country
which the well-to-do Russian burns, is the
white birch. The locomotive that drew us
to Moscow was a wood-burner. We saw

28

GLIMPSES OE RUSSIA.

The Czar's Railroad,

immense barges loaded with this same
white birch in the rivers and canals of
St. Petersburg. It grows rapidly and is
cultivated as one might cultivate the
land for cereals. It is also a tree of
ornament, and some of the watch stations
along the road were literally palisaded
by growing birches, uniform in size and
standing in straight lines as though laid
out as the Czar laid out his railroad.
The country between the two cities was
comparatively level resembling the roll-
ing prairies of the west.

For some distance outside St. Peters-
burg, the land is flat and marshy. As we
pulled out, heavy fog was rising above
it.

"Malaria," ejaculated the doctor of our
party. "The infamous Russian govern-
ment has much to answer for."

Where the swamp ended the land seem-
ed chiefly devoted to the cultivation of
cabbages. Later it became more solid,
and broad fields of grain stretched right
and left as far as eye could reach. It
appeared to me mostly rye or wheat or
barley. The farm buildings were in clus-
ters, at times forming considerable vil-
lages rather than like the scattered farms
of New England and the West. Men
and women cultivated the fields in large

gang s, some-
times as many
a s thirty o r
more in a line.
The men wore
heavy boot s,
baggy trousers
and red shirts
or blouses. The
women had on
most startling
combinations of
yellow, green,
magenta a n d
blue, while some
of the younger
peasant girls
looked like ani-
mated rainbows
— butterflies in
color although
anything but the
light and airy
insects in motion — which might naturally
be expected where butterflies wear men's
boots reaching to the knees. If the
question is asked how I happened to no-
tice these particulars, I will state that no
woman in the world, so far as I have
seen, lift their dresses so high in a storm
or mud as the Russian working women,
and the remarkable part of it is that they
seem to dress more for protection against
mud and snow than with a view to ap-
pearances. Here are three little maids
on a farm I visited. They are content
to labor near to the earth as their fathers
labored before them- — and they look it.
The farm houses were generally of
logs freed from bark, sometimes squared,
and the doors and doorways painted.
In every hamlet could be seen, centrally
located, the white church in the universal
form of the cross, and usually with a
green painted dome.

That Russia is not altogether an
Eden was indicated by a number of men-
dicants who presented themselves, solicit-
ing alms at stations where we stopped.
Except that they run so largely to hair,
they were no more objectionable in ap-
pearance than the ordinary hobo who
habitually steals his way on our western
railway trains. And these Russian beg-

S. R. STODDARD.

20

gars show the utmost deference, bowing
and scraping and crossing themselves
repeatedly and giving most grateful
thanks for any coin that is tossed to
them.

Moscow has left on me an impression
of great splendor and dirt, a riot of color
picturesquely combined. A Tartar beau-
ty to the eye, Tartar emetic on the sys-
tem, the general effect, one of exceeding
interest. What part of this feeling was
due to the fact that Thomas Cook & Sons
sent us to an alleged high-class hotel —
Hotel Berlin, which, in the splendidly-
colored circular, appears as a hollow
square and in memory as a hollow sham
— and how much to other untraceable
impressions remains an unanswered ques-
tion.

The older portions of Moscow are
richly Tartar in form and color ; the new
parts splendidly modern. The great fire
of 1842, which was encouraged by the
natives to discourage the French, might
have continued in some quarters to the
town's advantage so far as appearance
goes.

Moscow was founded somewhere about
the middle of the twelfth century and was
the capital city until the seat of govern-
ment was removed to St. Petersburginthe
beginning of the seventeenth century.
The most interesting part is the Kremlin
where, enclosed in high stone walls with
five entrance gates, are the royal palaces,
the great cathedral where the emperors

r

*#

A Farm Wagon.

Russian Peasant Girls.

are crowned, the cathedral of St. Michael
where all the Russian sovereigns down to
Peter the Great were buried, and the
Church of the Annunciation, paved with
jasper, cornelian and agate, where the
czars are baptized. Here also is the
treasury, containing the rich coronation
robes and crowns of all . the czars — a
storehouse of jewels and things of gold
and silver, once used, are to be used no
more forever ; and the tower of Ivan
with its wonderful chime of great bells,
and at its base, the one great bell that
was never hung, itself as large as an
ordinary house, weighing 222 tons, and
its metal alone estimated at a value of
$1,750,000. Church and cathedral glitter
with gold and silver and precious stones
of incalculable value — a show place
where the public come to gaze and ad-
mire, and where the great may worship
in becoming form — a splendid shell with
little life ; resplendent with the glories
that are principally things of the past.

Here came Napoleon to hold, tempo-
rarily, the riches which he could not
carry away, and realize the nature of an
enemy who would not be conquered
though they were destroyed, and where he
began that disastrous backward march
in which the splendid French army fell
down before a mightier than a human
foe, the resting place of many a soldier
known only when melting snows revealed
the stricken form,

I i

1

(I

I t

L«'k>i

, $v

H

Ivan's Tower.

Moscow is Oriental in its architecture,
particularly in its many buildings de-
voted to religious purposes. Its churches
are generally white-walled, with domes
of gold and green and red and ultrama-
rine, surmounted by crosses, from the
arms of which hang wires or cords by
which lanterns are hoisted on special
occasions. It has many bells, rich and
deep in tone, sometimes of structure just
a little thing giving sounds like low notes
on light wires and in every shade of tone,
but which, while not always strictly in
concord, are rich and harmonious as a

whole. The music of the bells is a fea-
ture of many hours of the day and night
in Moscow.

Of the gates that enter the Kremlin,
the one called "Holy" is looked upon
with great interest by visitors. It is told
that Napoleon entered the Kremlin from
the opposite side, and when he came
and looked out of this gate, he was smit-
ten with great fear and turned back dis-
heartened. Whoever passes through
doffs his hat reverently. If he neglects
to do so there are those on guard who
will remind him of the oversight, It is

S. R. STODDARD.

31

told of a smart American — one of th^
kind who misrepresent America abroad —
who did not propose to take his hat oft'
for any such nonsense. He was politely
reminded of the omission by the attend-
ant at the gate, but still persisted. Did
the guard immediately make a great
noise and arrest him with much Russian
bluster and hale him before some mighty
magistrate, as would have been done to a
violator of municipal rules in free Amer-
ica? Not so, he simply smashed the of-
fending tile by a deft swinging blow
with a convenient club and allowed the
ex-wearer to proceed in such reverential
mood as he might then possess.

The plan of the city is like a great,
irregular spider's web. From the Krem-
lin run radiating streets and about it
circle boulevards where splendid wealth
and abject poverty exist side by side.
Through this web, close under the walls
of the citadel, flows the river Moskva.

The Russian is particularly soft spoken
and courteous in all shades of society^
at least until you get down to the
drosky driver, who does not count, as
he is a creation by himself, like the Bed-
ouin of Palestine and the donkey-boy of
Cairo.

The much-maligned Russian police are
not extra officious in the performance of
their duties. I had letters to the Amer-
ican minister at St. Petersburg, but de-
layed presenting them. I also postponed
asking for a permit to photograph —
which I was told would
be necessary — until too
late to have it made out
before departing for
Moscow. As, however,
it seemed necessary for
me to make certain
photographs, whether I
had a permit or no, I
was given certain sug-
gestions as to what
would be best to do in
case any officer felt
called upon to make
himself specially ob-
noxious— the advice be-
ing based upon the as-
sumption that the Rus-

sian police, like the police of some other
countries, are human and open to ex-
planations of a substantial character —

The Great Bell of Moscow.

but I had no opportunity to put this
theory in practice. Once, within the
walls of the Kremlin, I was somewhat
open in making a picture of St. Savior's,
thinking at the time I was outside the
prohibited grounds. The Kremlin is not
only sacred ground, but a fortress as
well ; so when I saw an officer approach-
ing and eyeing my camera suspiciously,
I felt that retribution was coming. But
his air was apologetic when he pointed
to the camera and then to me and then
made as if to scribble on an imaginary
piece of paper, which I understood as

The Nicholas Gate.

32

GLIMPSES OF RUSSIA.

asking if I had the necessary permit. I
shook my head and shrugged my should-
ers deprecatingly. I could make no de-
fense. Did this minion of an iniquitous
despotism howl and jump on me and
run me off to a dungeon?

Not at all. He seemed really sorry

The Holy Gate.

when he explained, still in pantomime
with much pointing and nodding of head,
that I was not permitted to photograph
just there, but that I might do so freely
outside the walls. And he went with
me showing me the gate, and giving me
to understand with many a bow and
friendly smile, that anywhere out there
is would be all right. Fancy what a
New York policeman would have done
under like circumstances.

Later, when I received my permit in
flue form and had it explained to me, it
appeared that the only prohibition was
the taking of fortifications (which all
nations prohibit), the taking of sacred
places (which was a becoming concession
to religious faith), and that no tripod

or platform might be erected in the
public streets to unnecessarily obstruct
traffic.

We had a most intelligent guide, a pro-
fessor, as I understood, in one of the
schools of Moscow, who added to his in-
come at certain times, by acting as guide
and interpreter, a calling which
there seemed to be considered as
quite a distinguished and honorable
one. He was of English descent
and, as a doubtful subject, had been
obliged to leave Russia during the
Crimean war, but returned after
peace was established. By nature
and training he was broad and lib-
eral minded and could judge fairly.
In his mind the middle-class Rus-
sians were as refined and intelligent
as any people of the same class of
any country, while among the upper
classes would be found the most cul-
tivated— and particularly among the
high-class women — the best educat-
ed people of any nation. To be sure
there was ignorance in the lower
classes which were hardly yet free
from the yoke of serfdom under
which they had existed so long, but
the czar and the mighty power he
represented were doing all things
possible to educate and elevate the
masses, and while crimes were pun-
ished quickly and with an unyield-
ing hand, it was not more severe
than was meted out by other civilized
nations for like offences, while the rights
of all were assured by laws that were
eminently just, and which could be in-
voked by the most humble.

Moscow is the greatest manufacturing
town of Russia, noted for its gold and
silver ornaments, its china and glass-
ware, its rich cloths and silks and fine
woolens. It has splendid bazaars through
which run glass-covered arcades like
streets through a town, and with indi-
vidual stores where are displayed every
conceivable kind of fancy goods, jewelry
and bric-a-brac. A thousand different
firms, it is said, are doing business in
the principal one of these great beehives.

A Cat Tale
By EMMA ELLIS CONWAY

JHERE was no evading the
issue, that Nails was a
tough proposition. As a
matter of fact, his hered-
itary environments had
never been very condu-
cive of genteel behavior.

Having been born an alley cat, and
brought up in a hardware store, in the
suburban town of Washout, his lines
may be said to have fallen into some
pretty hard places.

But Nails was a born adventurer, and,
incidentally, a pioneer pugilist of deep-
est dye, and he savagely looked the part.

Previous to his advent at McCarty's
the annals of his past history had been
a blank ; but so far as surface indica-
tion could be trusted, he had evidently
descended from a direct line of fight-
ers.

He had peremptorily introduced him-
self one day at McCarty's, at the same
time rudely interrupting a ribald flow of
gossip among the loafers, by tumbling
into their midst, emitting a fierce round
of hisses and growls, and disappearing
behind the nail kegs.

There was a simultaneous scattering
of men and kegs, and numerous oaths
and ejaculations of surprise.

In the street could be heard the yelps
of some half dozen disappointed town
cnrs, intermingled with the shouts of
about as many ragged street gamins.

"Hi dere kids— 'ere 'e is ! Butt in dere,

Tacks, and hike de culpert oaut," shout-
ed a tow-headed youngster, as gamins
and dogs rushed pell-mell into McCar-
ty's store, in quest of their coveted
booty. "'Ere Tacks— sic 'im, Tacks!
dere 'e goes ferninst de nail keg — ye've
treed 'im noaw !" And with every faculty
attuned to vigor, men, boys, and dogs
set boisterously to work, to unearth the
intruder.

"Be th' love iv mar-rcy ! an phwat is
th' loikes of ve's o-oo to an-ny how?"
inquired Mrs. McCarty, as she came
wonderingly forward, with her arms
akimbo, attracted from her abode in the
rear, by the unusual commotion in
front.

"An' ees it ra-ats, ye byes is afther?"

"Rats, nothin'! wors'n rats — cats!"
promptly explained the foremost urchin,
who had unconsciously struck the key-
note to Mrs. McCarty's pet hobby. "Ca-
ats — cats !" she fairly shrieked, "by all
th' po-owers that be ! Hoike outen this
yesilves, ye bloomin' ijots — th' who-ole
kit an' bilin' iv ye's — bay gone, Oi soy !
Ees th' who'olc- pile of ye spalpeens af-
ther wan po-ore lettle inoffinsive defince-
less cat?"

"Have ye lo-ost a-all ye're gumshum,
not to say dacency, McCarty," she con-
tinued, turning indignantly toward her
husband, "to let sich div-vle-me-care

34

NAILS: A CAT TALE.

riff-raff as this, tak' th' pla-ace? Hoike
thim out, th' la-astin' wan iv thim, Oi
say !"

McCarty had long since learned,
through a much enduring domesticity,
that obedience was far the better part
of discussion, and so the place was soon
clear of the unwelcome visitors ; and af-
ter a thorough search, among the nail
kegs, Mrs. McCarty had discovered a
very dilapidated, and disreputable looking
young yellow cat, crouching aggressive-
ly in a remote corner, with his green
eyes gleaming like headlights upon a
dark night.

Seeing, as he thought, another one of
his tormenters — up went his back, and
his tail immediately assumed the shape
and proportions of a young Christmas
tree, while he sent forth another con-
tinuous performance of the vindictive
hisses and yowls, that had so discon-
certed the loafers.

"Ye po-ore little kitty cat! an' ees it
an intarnal convo-olshun ye're havin' an'
no-o wo-onder? Faith, an' th' loikes iv a
do-og na-amed Tacks'll niver have th'
plisure iv chewin' ye o-op ! Ye kin tell
'em — if an-ny wan sh'd ax ye — that
yoore na-ame is Nails, and ye're a cor-
rker fr-from Cor-rk to dafind ye her-re
afther — albeit ye shure look intoirely a-
able to dafind yersilf at prisint — but co-
ome a-along ho-oney — an' div-vle a bit
shall ye bay hur-rt nor-r sca-arcely no-
tayced !"

Mrs. McCarty's tongue reminded one
of the Niagara pouring itself into a tea-'
cup, so intense was its volubility, when
inspired by the elixir of enthusiasm ;
but her kindness of heart emanated from
that of most vigorously championing the
cause of the down-trodden wherever
found.

Nails, hearing himself kindly spoken
to, vibrated, with a reluctance begotten
of experience, between conflicting hope
and despair for awhile, and, though still
vigilant of eye, and tense of muscle, he-
condescended to indulge in a "lettle bith
of so-omethinj' to ate," still later on,
when relations had been established up-
on a proper basis.

And thus Nails was installed, as a
permanent fixture at McCarty's.

"An' phwat ye wa-ant wid th' cra-
chure ar-round, is mor'ner Oi kin see ;
he's o-ogly as th' dickens, an' not wort
a cint, an' ort to bay kilt — begorry!"

McCarty was not in the habit of ex-
pressing himself so freely upon subjects
that he knew to be in direct opposition
to his wife's opinion, but his powers of
resistance proved inadequate at times,
and he occasionally spoke unwarily.

"It's been me obsarva-ation, McCarty,
that payple in glass houses sh'd niver
trow stones ! If ye wa-as co-ondemned
on yoore wort, an' yoore looks, ye'd bay
hung befor-re noight !"

Mrs. McCarty had long since given
herself the habit of not mincing matters
with her husband ; and when she hurled
her quotations for his moral improve-
ment at him, and stood by her guns with
that stern magisterial air, that ' she was
wont to assume, when in a gladiatorial
contest, so to speak, with her unworthy
companion, he invariably dodged.

And thus, magnanimously championed
Nails, remained an habitue among the
nail kegs. And, be it said to his credit,
he had one, though only one, redeeming
trait of character ; he was the prize rat
catcher of the town. Killing rats, was
right in line with Nails' special predilec-
tion ; he was naturally averse to people
and things, and it delighted him to the
limit to put to ignominious flight all well
groomed cats, that had the appearance of
being "born to the purple."

Since he had grown in strength and
experience, the dogs of the neighbor-
hood had fought shy of McCarty's.

Tacks had encountered him once too
often, to that canine's everlasting dis-
comfiture, since he now had only a dog's-
eye view of the world at large through
one peeper.

If there were any dogs in Washout
that Nails. had not "licked," they were
such as he had never seen ; however, he
had encountered numerous and hair-
breadth escapades, which McCarty de-
clared were legion.

Once, when risking his life and limb
to catch a mouse, he had smashed his
record by tumbling into a keg of var-
nish instead, and for six weeks he slunk
among the nail kegs, bristling like a ver-

KM MA ELLIS CONWAY.

35

itable porcupine. Afterward, when he
had shed his ignominious coat of var-
nish, he mistook a cloth, thrown lightly
over a barrel of kerosene, for a nice
place on which to take a nap, and the
ducking he received would easily have
finished any other feline.

"An' a moighty foine toime 'twould
bay t' tetch a ma-atch to 'im," McCar-
ty had ventured, not forgetting to dodge.

"But a sthill bether toime to shut yo-
oure mout — an' there ye ar-re, McCar-
ty ! Troth, but thot's ye to a dhot ! Kick-
in' payple afther they're daown a-alr-
ready ! Shure an' ye wo-ould don yoore
gla-ad rags thin!" responded Mrs. Mc-
Carty with matchless presence of mind.

"An' thot's yesilf to anither dhot —
talkin' loike an expriss thrain, thot do-
ont aven tak' th' toime to sthop at th
sta-ations ! Go awn no-ow ! Go awn,
Missus McCarty ! yoore speerits ar-re

about nor-rmal this marrning Oi see, —
bad 'cess to 'em!" (McCarty rarely ever
held out so long in argument.)

"Which not ho-oldin' yoore tongue,
an' strooglin' f'r th' la-ast worrud — but
widout a-va-ail — is not a lo-st ar-rt wid
yersilf, McCarty. Yoore not figgerin'
on thdroppin' out iv th' ra-anks as yet
Oi see," unhesitatingly scored Mrs.
McCarty, exemplifying, as usual, her
ability to effectively silence McCarty, on
all points that intruded themselves for
discussion.

In point of fact, Dennis McCarty rare-
ly ever adopted declamatory measures in
differing from his wife, who stood al-
most six feet of brawn and rnuscle in
her stocking feet, while he was small of
stature, with a disconsolate little droop
to his figure; and albeit the cat subject
was not often mentioned between them,
he occasionally, unthoughtedly let fall
hints of his unspeakable antipathy to
Nails, and Mrs. McCarty had on such
occasions, responded with such choice
venom, that he had learned that the only
way to hold his own, (he never even
dreamed of over-reaching her) was to
employ methods of rare and sinister di-
plomacy.

For years he had been devising ways
and means by which he could rid the
store of Nails.

"Th' miscraent's bin kilt a noomber iv
toimes alreathdy,- — he's too ma-ane to
doie!"

"Oi'l tell ye a little sacrit, Tim, an'
if ye give me away to me ould leddy,
mav Hivin forgive ye, forr Oi niver
will!"

McCarty was smoking his pipe and

&

NAILS: A CAT TALE.

indulging in a bit of friendly gossip with
his neighbor, Tim Brogan.

"It's no wan but mesilf thot'll kape it
betther, McCarthy; Tim Brogan is niver
th' mon to bethra-ay a fr-riend." And
Tim nodded and winked assuringly.

"Faith an' it's loike this" — continued
McCarty, — "Pat Cronin has a coob bear,
thot he cla-aims can lick the nether
gar-rment offen anny thing in the baste
loine, in the town or anny wha-ares ilse,
be jabers ! He's thride a-all th' do-ogs
an' got 'em bate a blo-ock — so he sez.

"Last noight, sez Oi: 'Oi've a cat at
my pla-ace thot'll make yoore coob wisht
he'd niver bin borrun,' sez Oi — an' Oi
ha-ave, an' ye know it, Tim ! 'Good ! sez
he, 'fech awn th' cat an' give 'im th'
chants, wich is sa-ayin' a good dale' —
sez he. So we've bin advoortizin' th'
contist, on th' sub-rosy — ye moined, to
tak' pla-ace to-morry noight, in the hall
overr Tom and Jerry's pla-ace, an'
blissed be th' day, or noight eayther as
to thot, whin th' coob licks thot Nails
cat of Rosy McCarty's.

Shure and 'twould bay no gr-rate loss
if he knocked 'im ploom out, on th'
firrust round an' wid honors !" And the
two old cronies nudged each other, and
joined in a hearty laugh at the intima-
tion of the bear's triumphant victory.

"Shure, Moike!" said Tim, as he rose
to go, now yoore torkin' beesness, an'
Oi'll bay awn ha-nds airly, to see th'
spo-ort begin, an' luck to ye — an' th'
coob !" And Tim Brogan went on his
way, still chuckling gleefully to himself.

"An' ees it th' loikes of McCarty —
th' dirthy blaggard, that dra-ams he can
mislade an innocint cat, an' decave an
honest woman loike mesilf!" Solilo-
quized Mrs. McCarty from her involun-
tary place of concealment in the next
room.

Hearing "me ould leddy" in discus-
sion while passing had sharpened her
ears, and she had paused long enough to
hear McCarty's plot to match Nails
against Pat Cronin's pet cub.

"Th' div-vle an' Tom Walker! An'
woold he ma-atch thot cat aga-ainst a
bear? Howly shmoke! But Rosy Mc-
Carty'll umpire thot ga-ame an' widout
no foolin' eavther. Faaith an' confu-

sion—a bear! Glory be! an' Oi don't
know how big th' brrute is, but Oi'm
bettin' th' odds aga-ainst 'im, tin to v.an
in fa-avor iv th' cat, awn gineral pr-
rincipals! 'Blissed be th' day when th'
coob licks thot cat,' indade !" snorted
. Mrs. McCarty, waxing warm in her in-
dignation, as she thought of McCarty's
last remark to Pat Cronin — "jist ye wa-
atch my smoke — thin ye'll raymimber
me, Misther McCarty! an' sorra bay
thot day, an' more's th' pity!"

It was a noisy and expectant crowd
that gathered at eight o'clock the next
night to witness a fight between a cat
and a bear. To this end, and according
to agreement, McCarty was on hand
with Nails, having decoyed him into a
box, over which he had nailed some
slats ; and presently Pat Cronin
dropped in with his bear and the fun be-
gan.

Nails, on being released in one corner
of the room, glanced furtively about, and
took note of his surroundings. Finding
himself confronted by a formidable look-
ing black object, about six times his
own size, a kind of rage seized him, and
he instantly flew into the aggressive at-
titude, heretofore described, steadily
faced his antagonist, who uttered a few
low growls, and sounded a long and
menacing ultimatum of war. With a
rebellion of spirit so habitual with him,
Nails did not wait for a signal to begin
operations, but annihilating distance by
one mighty bound, he pounced upon the
small edition of Mr. Bruin, with the fury
of a tiger.

For the space of a few seconds, there
was a rotary movement of two dark ob-
jects, accompanied by a roundelay of
prolonged and furious growls; and if
the spectators were expecting to see fur
fly, they were in no wise disappointed.

If Pat Cronin's bear had ever flat-
tered himself that he was a pugilist, or
even akin to one, he was having the
wind most vigorously taken out of his
sails now.

He was so stunned by the fierce and
unexpected onslaught, that he had no
time to collect himself for defence, and
soon began putting up a series of piti-

KM MA ELLIS CONWAY.

37

ful howls, that clearly meant that he
had gotten enough.

His master was very judiciously go-
ing to his rescue, when the door was
quickly flung open, and McCarty's wife
stepped forth like a grenadier, and stood
silently marshalling her forces for a
moment, presenting a tableau not down
on the official programme for the even-
ing's entertainment.

But there were times, and this was one
of them, when Rosy McCarty's silence
could be said to express volumes.

Notwithstanding the atmosphere of
the place had rapidly descended to the
point of frigidity, the bewildered crowd
were distinctly conscious of invisible
electrical currents radiating from the
point where she stood, mentally taking
stock, so to speak, of the situation.

But remaining silent for any great
period of duration, was not one of Mrs.
McCarty's accomplishments, and her
power of speech soon asserted itself.

"Schapegra-aces ! Schapegra-aces !"
she burst forth in a high tragedy tone —
"th' la-ast div-vle iv ye! An' ees it
throoble ye're a-all ahuntin'?" Then
turning to McCarty, who, under the
shadow of impending danger had
slouched back in a teeth-chattering sort
of wav, she grasped him by the coat col-
lar with a Spartan like vigor, and as she
raised him slightly off his feet, and
shook him, very much as Nails would a
rat, she poured out a fusillade of wrath
upon his unresisting anatomy.

"Dinnis McCar-rty," she fairly hissed
— "thot cat ha-as somethin' ye niver had
— an' more's the pity — Gr-r-it! an' no

toime'll iver di'im th' glo-ory iv it, this
soide of th' cra-ack iv doom!

"Och ! but ye'll pa 'ale before it a
manny iv anither toime aga-ain air-ready,
d'ye moind that sa-ame me hearty?"

"McCarty," she went on, in good set
tones, that gained momentum as they
waxed warmer, "ye was coot out f'r a
mo-onkey, but ye was bor-run a pl-lum
fool an' thot's no-o loie ! But if ye iver
raypate anither ca-aper loike th' prisint
wan, may th' Hivinly Saints pr-resarve
ye — an' no-ow kin ye bay good?"

And having thus summarily divested
herself of her feelings, Mrs. McCarty
made her triumphant exit, closely fol-
lowed by her notorious protege.

"It's no use, byes !" said McCarty, de-
jectedly shaking his head, after he had,
in a measure pulled himself together,
"Oi'll gi-ive it oop — thot Rosy McCarty
— she thot ees me own woife — she shure
jar-rs upoon me sinsibilities, with her-r
ineggaustable fii-und iv rejinder!

"She tveel no-ot convarse — faith an'
she'd boorst, if she co-ould no-ot har-
rangue !"

Seeing the comprehensive little smiles
that involuntarily went the rounds, upon
the faces of his companions, McCarty
continued : "Thot co-ondemned woman,
would r-rush in wha-are anny wan, but
a lu-unatic wou-uld hessitate to enter —
but, if she, an' thot Nails cat, iver rap-
pate anither ca-aper th' countaypar-rt of
this zvan — Oi'l bay gee-whizzled t' gol
dinged if Oi don't sue them both f'r br-
reech iv promises to kape the peaces, an'
mav th' div-vle tak' th' two iv thim !"

THANKSGIVING

By BERTA K. BROWN

Nothing that now is, is lasting,
Save love that endures to the end ;

So, no matter what evil forecasting,
One thing is not lost — a true friend.

Then with joy I wait for the reaping,
At longest the time is not long ;

The sowing may sometimes be weeping,
But the harvest a Thanksgiving song.

ONLY A BABY'S CHAIR

By ELEANOR MAY ROGERS

HOARSE and common hu-
manity crowded the
rooms, the doors, and the
pavement surrounding a
down-town auction house.
Pushing1 and shoving,
grunting and groaning, frowning and
sneering, the people selfishly sought van-
tage ground where they might the bet-
ter observe the goods on sale ; or, where
they might the better have opportunity
to bid on some objects of special inter-
est to them individually.

The auctioneer had been in the busi-
ness during all of the years of a long
life. He was upwards of sixtv yea-s
of age, but burly and strong, albeit gray
and somewhat wrinkled. It would seem
to be a very safe thing to wager that
there could be no heart nor sign of sen-
timent nor kindliness of feeling, back of
that face of his, which was cunning and
hard, grasping and worldly. He was
looking over his crowd, studying them
and making ready to direct his witti-
cisms or arguments towards those who
might be the most susceptible, accord-

ing to the judgment which had been de-
veloped by ripe experience in auction-
eering.

In the motley crowd there was a sad-
looking woman. Her cheeks were
pale ; and the redness of her eyes indi-
cated weeping overmuch. She wore a
calico gown ; old and faded. Any man
of the world who might respectfully gaze
for more than a minute into the face
and eyes which were almost wholly con-
cealed by her sun bonnet, would read in
those eyes and in that profile, tenderness
and delicacy ; refinement and culture.

Maybe she was a mother ; maybe she
is a mother. But, although she is now
in middle life, one can readily see that
she once had a home ; a home in girl-
hood, with a mother who cared for and
nurtured her with tenderness and great
loving kindness. In her sad face there
was that which made one think of her
as in childhood, rather than as one in
suffering womanhood.

She stood alongside of a small lot of
old worn-out furniture. It had once
belonged to her; but it was now to be
sold for debt. The auctioneer looked
at her several times ; looked at her very
hard, as he disposed of the goods. The
old bureau went to one buyer. The
easy rocker went to another. The bed-
stead was sold to another. Piece by
piece her cheap but only possessions
were sold ; and she sighed as she wit-
nessed their everlasting diappearance.
Every stick had a history of some kind ;
every article was in some way endeared
to her.

Finally the auctioneer lifted up a
child's high chair. It was old; and it
was rickety. It was scarce worth of-
fering for sale. As the auctioneer held
it up, everybody laughed ; everybody but
the auctioneer. He had glanced at
the woman as each piece had been sold,
and he had witnessed something of her
emotions every time. As he lifted up
this little chair, he glanced at her; and

ELEANOR MAY ROGERS.

39

he saw tears glistening; on cheeks as
white as the cheeks of the dead.

Nobody noticed his glance. There-
fore, nobody knew why he coughed, and
tried to gulp down a lump in his throat.
Nobody knew why that always hard and
harsh voice grew soft and gentle. He
saw those tears, and they made him
think of a little high chair at his own
home ; a chair that had been filled with
dimpled legs and arms ; a little chair
that had rosy cheeks in it, and bright
eyes ; a little chair whence came all the
crowing and laughter that had made his
home a home indeed.

The crowd didn't know it. But, the
little chair at the home of the auction-
eer was empty now. The two little
hands that went out to meet "Papa,"
with a baby laugh that was sweetest mu-
sic that ever was heard by him, were
gone. No wonder his voice softened.
He knew the meaning of the piteous
looks of the pale-faced woman ; Tcnew
that to her that little high chair was
more precious than if it had been made
of finest gold from Ophir, and studded
with diamonds and precious gems from
every land ; for it was glittering in her
heart with jewels of memory ; memory
of home, husband and baby ; angel baby.

Thinking of his own home, he could
see as she saw, in memory, the dimpled
little cherub which once had sat en-
throned there ; could see the little fist
grasping the rattle-box and pounding
the arms of the chair full of those nicks ;
could see the restless little feet and legs
that rubbed all of the paint off of the
seat and foot-rest ; could hear the
laughing and cooing in care-free glee ;
and now his empty chair at home made
him understand how she loved that emp-
ty chair in the old auction house, and
why those tears were flowing silently
under the shadows of the old sun-bon-
net.

Because there was an aching void in
his own heart ; he knew how the heart
of that friendless sad woman was ach-
ing. Before he knew or realized it,
he was thinking out loud to the crowd:

"The days come, and the days go ; but
there is no happiness in them. Baby's
gfone. There is no one to dress in the

morning; and no one to put in the high
chair. The table is deserted as a cem-
etery. Then, there is nobody to put to
bed at night; nobody to say: ''Now I
lay me." Baby's gone. I've an emp-
ty home, because I've empty arms and
an empty heart. Baby's gone. What
am I bid for this baby's chair?"

"Ten cents," said one. "Fifteen
cents," said another. And the bidding
went up to thirty cents, and there it
stopped.

"Sold to that little lady right there
for fifty cents," sa(id the auctioneer, as
he gave from -his own pocket a half
dollar to the clerk ; and immediately
handed the chair to the pale-faced wom-
an.

40

A MODERN PISH-MA-TA-HA.

She clasped it in her arms, and the
crowd stood back respectfully, for now
they all saw the tears streaming down
her cheeks. Turning- towards the auc-
tioneer, she tried to utter her thanks,
but was interrupted by the bluff old fel-
low, who had recovered himself, and
was again the auctioneer :

"Not a word, madam ; not a word. I
know all about it. This is an auction
store, not a tear factory. Good-bye.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, how much
am I offered for this — ?

And he went on selling the goods in
hand, as though nothing had happened

out of the ordinary. But, that after-
noon, the wife of the auctioneer found
the pale-faced woman, and took her
home. Soon after she became the
housekeeper of a large mansion. The wife
of the auctioneer and she were great
friends ever afterward ; because, that
one touch of nature which makes the
whole world kin, bound them together.
Each one of them had an empty high
chair ; and their hearts were linked to-
gether. All the world might not know ;
but they knew the meaning of the
words :

"Baby's gone!"

A MODERN PUSH-MA-TA-HA.

By A. A. POWE

HE first act of Push-ma-ta-
ha upon his return to the
reservation from the Chil-
icco Indian Training
School, where, for four
weary years he had been
acquiring the rudiments of an enforced
civilization, was to discard his natty
cadet uniform of gray, and with a clean
sheet begirt about his loins, be betook
himself to the Post trader's store, and
there pledged his next quarterly annui-
ty to pay for a blanket of many colors, a
Mexican saddle with many trimmings,
an improved Winchester rifle and belt
full of cartridges. With these he re-
turned to the lodge of his father, where
he proceeded to forget the useless knowl-
edge that had been forced upon him
the while letting bis glossy locks, which
had been shorn at the school, grow long
once more.

In an earlier day before the Indian
Police, acting on an order emanating
from the office of the Agent at Paw-
hus-ka, had spirited him away to the
Government Training School at Chilic-
co, Push-ma-ta-ha had given promise of
becoming a leader and a great man in
his tribe, for besides being a direct de-

scendant of a long line of chiefs, he had
at the tender age of sixteen acquired a
reputation for sagacity and acquisitive-
ness, which had won for him the plaud-
its of the men and the admiration of
the women of the tribe, and at the same
time, the distrust of the Agent at Paw-
hus-ka, who is held to account for the
misdeeds of his wards. Even at the
age of fifteen he was a tall and power-
ful buck, and the two eagle feathers
which dangled at the end of his glossy
braids denoted that he had earned the
right to sit in the councils of the tribe,
and no Carnegie medal for valor will
ever be so proudly worn as was this in-
signia of the plains which opened to him
the doors of the most exclusive Wild
Horse tepees. No buck was so active
at the annual Green Corn buske, and
twice had he been selected to lead the
Sun Dance, a duty which he performed
with as great eclat, as the leader of a
German at a millionaire's reception in
Washington. At the ball games he
was the swiftest runner and the most
dexterous thrower with the brackets, and
arrayed in a single breech clout, with
white horse tail streaming straight out
behind as he tore across the field after
the ball he cut a figure which would

A. A. POWE

4'

make a foot ball dash by a Harvard
half-back look like child's play. But
aside from these social accomplishments
he possessed others of more practical
use. There was no man on the reser-
vation, white or red, who could rope and
orand a maverick with greater ease, and
the skill with which he could alter the
brand on a steer, so that it baffled the
most experienced cowboy on the plains,
was not only marvelous, but exceeding-
ly profitable.

His proficiency in this line got him into
difficulties with the Potawatomies whose
complaints to the Agent of the reserva-
tion forced him to take strenuous meas-
ures with Push.

"School will take the
kinks out of him," de-
clared the Agent to his
clerk. "Make out the
order and write a letter
to the Superintendent at
Chilicco, telling him
what sort of a proposi-
tion we are sending
him."

Within a week there
was a transformation
scene in the appearance
of our financier such as
a green room never wit-
nessed. Instead of his
glossy braids, his head
was nearly as bald as a
new-born babe's, made
so by the school barber;
in the place of the bright
blanket which he had worn with the grace
of a gondolier at a World's Fair, he wore
a cadet uniform of gray, while hard un-
comfortable shoes tortured his feet,
which had only known the soft beaded
moccasin before. His own mother would
not have recognized her offspring. The
metamorphosis was more complete than
any he had ever wrought with knife and
branding iron On steer or pony.

We will not undertake to follow Push
through his four years of thralldom. At
first he rebelled a few times, and escap-
ing the guards returned to his home and
hid out, but the police always found him
and returned him to the School where
he was given extra hateful tasks by way

of punishment which soon cured him,
and he finally buckled down and became
a model student, winning thereby the
golden opinions of the teachers, and
what was more to him, many liberties he
would otherwise have forfeited. At last
the glad day came when the door opened
to the prairies, and four years older and
a hundred years wiser he hearkened to
"The call of the wild." He could now
both speak and write English, but he
had no intention of making use of that
knowledge. He knew there were pen-
alties for violating laws and determined
not to be caught in the violation. He
knew the uses of the plow, the ax* and
the hoe, but he had not the slightest idea
of putting his hard-
earned experience into
practice. All he wished
was to forget.

In his father's house
there was plenty, and his
father's wives, his own
mother among them,
gave him open-handed
welcome, and there he
sat down to wait, while
his hair grew long.

By the time of the
next Sun Dance he was,
was, to all appearances,
fully recovered from the
effects of his four years'
infliction of civilization
and once more he led the
dance, and again his
white horse tail was seen
across the ball field, all the yelling pack
at his heels ; the eagle feathers were re-
placed, and his advice was sought and
listened to, by the old men, while the
women waited upon and idolized him.

The Agent, when told of the purchase
of the Winchester and belt of cartridges,
had prophesied that he would kill some
one soon, and for awhile felt uneasy ev-
ery time business took hi"1 outside of
the Post. The members of the tribe
who had been beneficiaries of his boun-
ty before, secretly hoped he would make
such another visitation to the Pot coun-
try. The cowboys put a closer watch
on their herds, and inspected brands at
least once a week, but as is the way

42

A MODERN PUSH-MA-TA-HA.

with true genius, none of these things
happened.

Residing in a cow-skin tepee in a re-
mote corner of the reservation, was
Lone Wolf and his daughter Red Wing.
Red Wing was a famous maker of moc-
casins, and Lone Wolf had grown rich
selling her handiwork to the cattlemen
and visitors at the Post. These mocca-
sins were wonderfully wrought, and us-
ually brought fifty dollars in gold for
a pair. Red Wing was neither young
nor beautiful, but she was a veritable
gold mine, and her hand had been much
sought after, but Lone Wolf's price of
one thousand dollars, or fifty ponies, was
prohibitive, and she remained under the
parental roof. Here one day came
Push-ma-ta-ha in quest of a pair of the
famous moccasins for his own lordly
feet. Red Wing had just finished a
pair which were a perfect fit. The price
was fifty dollars. Push had no gold
and offered his pony and then, though
he had only one, he offered two ponies.
But still Lone Wolf was. obdurate.
Three days were passed and yet no
trade was made, at least, with Lone
Wolf, but on the morning of the fourth
day his guest was gone, and with him
the moccasins, and — Red Wing. When
Lone Wolf realized the full extent of his
loss, he was wild with rage. His daugh-
ter, worth fifty ponies, had been stolen.
He took the trail in hot haste to over-
take the despoiler of his tepee, but Push-
ma-ta-ha knew all the tricks of the prai-
ries, and easily eluded the pursuer. Hid-
ing his bride in an abandoned dug-out
on Hominy Creek, he there awaited the
coming of his father-in-law. All the
tribe was agog with excitement when
the facts were related by Lone Wolf.
Such a thing had never before happened
in the memory of the oldest inhabitant.
The braves looked grave, for they had
valuable daughters of their own. The
women t?n^d about it in awed whis-
pers, and shuddered at the thought of
the punishment that would be measured
out to .Red Wing when she was taken
back to her father's lodge, and one and
all wondered what Push-ma-ta-ha would
do What he did do when Lone Wolf
finally located them and demanded his

daughter or her value, was to inform the
old man 'that under the white man':,
laws, to which he could appeal, Red
Wing could do as she pleased since she
was of lawful age, being past forty sum-
mers, that she had been held an unwil-
ling prisoner by him for years, that she
was very well satisfied now, and that if
he kicked up a row he, Push-ma-ta-ha,
would go to the Post and tell the Agent
about the white man who had been shot
and killed almost at Lone Wolf's door
recently. This last threat brought the
old man to terms at once, which was
simply to relinquish all claim to Red
Wing for all time to come.

It was a long shot, that guess at the
murder of a white man near his new
father-in-law's tepee, but a blood stained
saddle he had discovered hidden in a
brier patch, and a cayuse with a strange
brand tethered near the tepee had seem-
ed sufficient to him for a deduction, and
the easy submission of the old reprobate
had shown he was right.

Lone Wolf realized at once that he
was no match for his brilliant son-in-
law, and after signing, with his mark, a
bill of sale for his daughter, and receipt
for one thousand dollars, he gave his
children his blessing.

As Red Wing was satisfied, and the
dug-out was situated in a rich valley
with an abundance of water not more
than half a mile distant, Push-ma-ta-ha
stayed on where they were. He start-
ed a farm by getting a cow-man to
break out and fence a few acres. Red
Wing worked at her moccasins, which
he sold and pocketed the proceeds, just
as her father had done, scarcely realiz-
ing that she had but swapped masters ;
but watching a fat squaw sew beads on
a shoe while you are hungry is likely to
pall on most any one, and after a while
Push-ma-ta-ha hungered for the flesh-
pots of Egypt.

He had grown lean, and leaving Red
Wing to get along as best she might in
the dug-out, Push-ma-ta-ha hit the trail
with a well-defined object in view, which
in two days' time took him to the lodge
of Crazv Snake, a noted Creek brave.
famous no less for his plenteous table
than for his uncompromising hatred for

A. A. POWE.

43

the white men who were forcing his
people to take homestead allotments of
one hundred and sixty acres each, in-
stead of every man having all he could
fence and a half mile beyond. True,
Crazy Snake had never fenced above
fifteen acres, but he felt as though he
was being cheated by being limited to a
bare 160 acres for each of his numerous
family. The sofka served by the Mrs.
Crazy Snake was sour just to his lik-
ing, and the company being congenial
and having nothing else to do, Push
tarried here until he grew sleek and fat
again. He was loath to depart, but
when one of the women purposely al-
lowed him to see the bottom of the Sof-
ka gourd, the hint was ■___«»■■
too broad to be disre-
garded. When he left
he was accompanied by
Ta-la-la, Crazy Snake's
fourteenth daughter, and
said to be the most ex-
pert maker of sofka and
tomfuller on Deep
Fork. Just what was
the consideration paid
for Ta-la-la none ever
knew, but it was report-
ed at the next buske that
Crazy Snake had given
him the pick of all his
daughters on the sole
condition of his leaving.
Be that as it may, Push
led his second bride to
his dug-out, where, he
reasoned with the best moccasin
maker and the best sofka brewer
in the tribe, he was indeed a fa-
vorite of fortune. Push-ma-ta-ha now
settled down to enjoy life. Through the
good offices of a walnut-log shark, who
denuded his land of its valuable timber,
he got a log cabin erected, and to an in-
truder he gave a lease of fine land for a
nominal rental of Sofka corn, so, that
now with every contingency provided
for, and two industrious squaws to at-
tend his wants, he felt that he could af-
ford to take things easy. He lost in-
terest in the buske and ball games, and
was only seen away from home at infre-
quent intervals, but it was observed that

Miss Elizabeth King

his private brand, a curious combination
of a lazy s and half circle bar, became
more and more frequent, and his bunch
of ponies steadily increased in numbers,
until within a very few years he became
one of the rich men of the tribe. Within
another year a third addition had been
erected to his now pretentious lodge, and
a third Mrs. Push-ma-ta-ha installed
therein, and to her was assigned the task
of cultivating the six acre field of corn
and potatoes. Peach and locust trees
had been planted round about the place,
and these had grown until the cabins
were almost hidden from view. In the
meantime Red Wing had given birth to
a son, and often he would bring out the
_____ board to which the babe

was strapped, and stand-
ing it up against a tree
where the light was
good, he would spend
hours smoking and con-
templating the wonder-
ful infant blinking in the
sun.

By this time Push-ma-
ta-ha had come to be
looked upon as a great
man. Here he was at
an age when most men
were scarcely beginning
to think of doing some-
thing, a man of sub-
stance, the head of a
family, with three of the
most valuable and obed-
ient wives in the tribe,
he, the envy of the envied — a captain of
industry — a Napoleon of finance. No
guest was ever shown the bottom of the
Sofka gourd at his lodge, and his hos-
pitality was as large and as free as the
prairies that reached away on every side
from his lodge.

But the rich have their crosses as well
as the poor, and Push-ma-ta-ha proved
no exception to the rule. There was yet
one thing lacking to make him complete-
ly happy and give his lodge the air of
settled respectability so necessary to
make it perfect. As yet he had no
grave yard started. There were no
covered mounds before his door, no con-
necting link between the past and the

44

A MODERN PUSH-MA-TA-HA.

future, and over this omission he brood-
ed long and dismally. Once when his
wife, Ta-la-la, became very ill, though
he would miss her Sofka, his hopes were
raised high as the clouds, and he marked
out the place for her grave to be dug,
but, to his intense disgust, after all his
plans had been made for a great feast.
Ta-la-la only did not die, but presented
him with another daughter. Great was
his disappointment, and to assuage it he
went on a visit to his Creek father-in-
law, Crazy Snake, and there, to his de-
light, he found that one of his mothers-
in-law was sick past recovery, indeed,
already the women were chanting the
death song. The quick-witted Push-
ma-ta-ha saw his opportunity to fulfill
his heart's desire, and calling Crazy
Snake aside he struck a hasty bargain
for his mother-in-law. He did not hag-
gle over the price, there was not time,
but he took the precaution to bargain
that she should not die until she was
safely under his roof. Crazy Snake,
too, was a man of action, and no sooner
was the bargain closed than preparations
for a hasty journey were made. With-
in an hour the sick woman, lying on a
pallet of straw in an old wagon, attend-
ed by all her household, was being hur-
ried towards the home of her son-in-
law, which, to his infinite relief, and
that of Crazy Snake also, was reached
in time for her to peacefully breathe her
last in her daughter's presence. The
grave was dug, a big feast was spread,
and while Push-ma-ta-ha as chief mourn-
er poured ashes on his head, the women
of his household sent up a cry that
reached to the skies. It was a soul-
satisfying occasion ; never before had
there been such fine obsequies on the
shores of Hominy, and Push-ma-ta-ha
was swelled with pride and importance.
"If," he reflected, "they had such a time
at the burial of a mother-in-law, who
had cost him but three ponies, what an
event his own death would be." Be-
sides the ponies which Crazy Snake had
been quick to claim as soon as his spouse
had fulfilled his part of the bargain by
drawing her last breath, five steers had
been slaughtered for the guests who had
come from far and near, and when the

week of mourning and feasting was
done the bottom of the Sofka gourd
was visible, the salt gourd was empty,
the potatoes were all gone, and Push-
ma-ta-ha faced a crisis not unlike that
of a cornered bear in a wheat pit. He
was face to face with bankruptcy, his
family was now large as the reputation
he had made, and both must be main-
tained. In this emergency Push smoked
in long contemplation of the newly made
grave already neatly covered with
boards, and as a result of his cogitations,
he determined as the easiest and quick-
est way out of the predicament into
which his extravagance had brought
him, to marry a fourth wife. Chitto
Harjo. a noted man of the tribe, had
been dead nearly a month. Chitto had
been a man of substance. He had been
converted at an early day by the mis-
sionaries, and had since then been an ex-
horter among his people. He had nev-
er taken but one wife, and she was child-
less. In emulation of the ways of the
white men Chitto had built a large house
and his farm of over one hundred acres
was the best on Wild Horse Creek. He
had left his widow well provided with
this world's goods in corn, cattle and
much money. To the widow Push-ma-
ta-ha turned his thoughts, and then,
braiding his hair and donning a new
blanket, he went to the widow's home.
That she was much older than he, and
was intolerably ugly, made no difference
to Push-ma-ta-ha, he was mot particular
in such matters. The widow looked
with favor upon the suit of the young
gallant, who dazzled her old eyes with
his graces, besides it had always been a
source of discontent to her that her for-
mer spouse had steadfastly refused to
take any other wife, and she had never
had any one under her to jaw and order
about. She knew all about the three
wives on Hominv. The courtship was
brief, and within a few days she was a
widow no more. The famine in Homi-
ny Lodge was averted and a new order
instituted there. This latest addition,
by right of age, assumed immediate con-
trol and enjoyed to the fullest the de-
lightful experience of bossing a big lot
of women and children, and all the rest

A. A. POWE.

45

were content that it should be so, while
as for Push, this latest coup gave him
added prestige both at home and abroad.
His cup was now full to running over,
and for several years he smoked his pipe
in peace and plenty. By the death of
an aged relation whom he had befriend-
ed in the nick of time, and also of a child
or two in his own now numerous family,
the row of graves in front of his lodge
had grown to respectable size. He was
now a member of the National Council
and the holder of various positions of
trust, honor and graft. By this time
numerous white men were paying him
tribute, herds of cattle were being pas-
tured in his name — thus escaping the
paying of the tribal tax of a dollar a
head, Push received a fourth of that
sum for the protecting use of his influ-
ence and name, hundreds of tons of hay
and thousands of feet of walnut logs
escaped the tax collector by the same
method. It was graft in its purest,
simplest form, and to his way of think-
ing it was right, so long as he was not
caught.

Push-ma-ta-ha was in a fair way to
become a very great man when, this time
without any reason, he brought home
another wife and in so doing drove the
first nail into the coffin of his ambition.
It was Mary, the daughter of Moty
Tiger, this time who was installed in a
new cabin built alongside the rest. Moty
Tiger's daughter was a coy young thing,
of a little over two hundred weight, who
had been to school and who was fond of
showing off her accomplishments in in-
fluent English. She was shrewd beyond
her years and weight, and knowing more
of the ways of the white men than her
mates, she had secured a marriage li-
cense of the clerk at the Post, and had
insisted upon being married formally by
a minister, and Push-ma-ta-ha had let
her have her own way. Later he found
her useful as an interpreter in his deal-
ings with white men to whom he did not
care to talk in person.

About this time, by right of having
married into the neighborhood, Push-
ma-ta-ha was elected a trustee of the
Wild Horse school district, the school
building of which was on the estate he

had come into possession of with the
widow Harjo, and it was just about this
same time that the investigation made
by the Indian Rights' Association of
Philadelphia was being aired in the
press. Interest in the Indian affairs of
the Department was at fever heat, and
among those to catch the infection was
Miss Elizabeth King, a Boston woman
and reformer of thirty-five or therea-
bouts. Miss King, weary of slumming
about the streets of Boston, decided to
sacrifice the remaining years of ker
youth in the cause of the down-trodden
Red man and promptly placed her ser-
vices at the command of a grateful gov-
ernment. Teachers were wanted in the
Indian Schools and she was sent with a
letter of recommendation and introduc-
tion to the agent at Paw-hus-ka. Look-
ing over the list of available schools, the
Agent, by some strange fatality, hit upon
the one on Wild Horse, to which Push-
ma-ta-ha had been recently elected a trus-
tee. Miss King was eager to begin at
once, so messengers were sent to sum-
mon the pupils and trustees to gather at
the school house on a certain day, and
hither came Push-ma-ta-ha and met his
finish. If he had not accepted that empty
honor ; if Miss King had not been girlish-
ly romantic ; if — but what is the use of
retrospection ?

Miss King's ideas of the Indians had
been formed upon a reading of stories of
daring and valor, and a more intimate
study of Remington's pictures, and great
had been the downfall of her illusions
when she had seen the squat, dirty chil-
dren gathering at the school house to
which she had been escorted by an
Agency clerk, and she was all unprepar-
ed for the picture of magnificence which
greeted her vision when Push-ma-ta-ha,
arrayed in a brand new blanket, beaded
leggings and moccasins, with shining
braids tipped with two new eagle feath-
ers entered the doorway. "Oh — isn't he
magnificent," she exclaimed, clapping her
hands in girlish rapture. "Who is he ? T
wish I could speak his language, I should
so love to talk to him."

"He is one of you trustees and you
can talk to him all you wish as he speaks
English almost as well as you or I when

46

A MODERN PUSH-MA-TA-HA.

he wants to, but he is the most notorious
thkf on the reservation, Miss King, and
while you are talking to him, you had
better keep your eyes on any valuables
you may have around."

Miss King decided that the Agency
clerk was prejudiced, and as he departed
directly, she engaged Push-ma-ta-ha in
a heart to heart talk. It is wonderful
what an effect a pair of blue eyes and a
soft voice can have upon the savage
breast of man in any walk of life. When
this maiden from Boston looked up into
his eyes with such simple trust and evi-
dent admiration, and in soft tones begged
his assistance to make this, her life work,
a success, Push-ma-ta-ha felt something
tugging at his heart strings — he did not
know what — but supposed it must be
hunger and excusing himself, he left in
search of a mess of sofka, but not until
he had given a promise to return and
help her "get things started just right,
you know." The next day it was the
same, and the next. Whenever the
school ma'am appealed to him to know
if she was on the right track, he expe-
rienced that same feeling of goneness
which no amount of sofka seemed to sat-
isfy. He hung around the school house
like a hungry cur about the table eagerly
catching such scraps as were thrown
him. He watched this new divinity from
the seclusion of a plum thicket as she
passed on her way to school. Push-ma-
ta-ha was in love ; for the first in his
life he felt the meaning of woman's
smile and heard the dulcet sweetness in
the tone that has led men to their de-
struction from the day of dawn until
now. It was a new experience, and Push-
ma-ta-ha was so bewildered that he for-
got to go home to his lodge in Hominy,
but stayed on and on, faithfully discharg-
ing his duties as trustee. As for Miss
King, she was quick to discern the state
of mind of this untutored child of the
forest, and she wrote glowing letters to
envious young lady friends in Boston of
her "Indian Prince." She knew noth-
ing about the household on Hominy. She
was told that the big house where she
boarded and the farm about it belonged
to her Prince, and one day she became
Mrs. "Push-ma-ta-ha, number 6, and went

with him to live, not in the lodge on
Hominy, to be sure, but in the big stone
house on the Wild Horse ranch. It js
hard to know what influenced her most
to take this step, probably her age, a
dash of romance, and perhaps a desire
to devote all her life to the cause. As
for Push-ma-ta-ha, he would have jump-
ed into a fire at her command. The
school had closed for the term, the
honeymoon was on the wane and the
wedding of the school teacher to Push-
ma-ta-ha was already an old story at the
Post when one day Mrs. Push-ma-ta-ha
received a letter from a party of Boston
friends who were touring the West, ex-
pressing a desire to make her a visit. It
was a welcome break in the monotony
that was already growing oppressive, and
she at once sent off an urgent invitation
to them to come. She planned to give
her friends a royal reception and Push-
ma-ta-ha was requested to arrange an
Indian feast for their entertainment.
Then it was he bethought him of the
good sofka made by his spouse Ta-la-la
and he made a hurried visit to the lodge
on Hominy where he was .made welcome
after his long absence, which he did
not find it necessary to explain. No un-
comfortable questions were asked, only
the daughter of Moty Tiger threw out
a hint now and then that made him un-
easy. Mary Tiger Push-ma-ta-ha be-
longed to the new woman class, and in
New York or Chicago she would have
been a shining light and a leader, but in
her limited sphere she could only make
things uncomfortable as she might for
the few about her. Push-ma-ta-ha had
come to realize something of this, too,
and he watched her furtively while he
waited for Ta-la-la to prepare a big
brewing of sofka and for the unsuspect-
ing Red Wing to finish a very little pair
of moccasins which he intended for his
latest bride. That Moty Tiger's daugh-
ter suspected something he knew, and he
was anxious to get away lest she should
read his secret. Finally with the sofka,
a bag of Tom Fuller, yards of sun-dried
pumpkin and the precious moccasins,
Push-ma-ta-ha departed, and long after
he hit the trail he felt the accusing sus-
picious gaze of Mary Tiger as it follow-

A. A. POWE.

A 7

ed Hm from the lodge and he was un-
comfortable. He realized now what a
hazardous and foolish thing it had been
for him to go to Hominy for the dainties
he had with him. It had seemed the na-
tural thing to do then, besides he was
hungry for a mess of Ta-la-la''s pottage.
Now that he was filled it looked differ-
ent, and he pushed on his team as if to
drive away from this undefined danger.
Arriving at the Wild Horse mansion his
welcome soon banished
his fears, and he forgot
the frowns of one wife
in the smiles of another.
At last the great day of
the feast arrived and
with it came the guests
driven over from the
nearest railroad station
twenty miles distant.
The festal board was
spread, a barbacued ven-
ison, a pair of wild tur-
keys, a pot of sour
steaming sofka, bowls of
tomfuller — it was a feast
fit for a king, and seat-
ed at the head of the
table, arrayed as an In-
dian Prince, sat Push-
ma-ta-ha, while at the
other end, in the garb of
an Indian Princess, was
Mrs. Push, who made merry
admiring friends. The sofka
tasted and pushed aside, the
fuller and fried pumpkin were
taken of sparingly, the venison was help
ed and all was proceeding merrily, when
noiselessly the door was opened and
there entered an old weazened woman
followed by four fat ones not so old, and
a hoard of children. Looking up, to his
dismay Push-ma-ta-ha saw that his en-
tire family had come unbidden to the
feast. For the second time in his life he
felt the cold chills of fear creep up his
spinal column — the other time was years
ago when the Indian Police had caught
him. an untamed youth, to take him to
Chilicco. He gazed helplessly into the
accusing faces now close to his side, and
waited miserably for the shock — it came.

A discredited and broken brave."

with

was
tom-

par-

The guests who had paused at the in- ,
terruption, gazed curiously at the intru-
ders, supposing them to be a part of the
show, but not so their hostess ; she noted
at once that something was wrong and
was filled with dread.

"Who are these people," she asked,
addressing her husband. "Why don't
you order them out? What do they
want?"

But he was speechless, and it was the
daughter of Moty
Tiger who answered
her:

"What we want," she
exclaimed shrilly. "We
want our man' — you try
steal an' she," here she
pointed to the old wo-
man, "Want her house
and farm you take, an'
these," and here she
waved one fat arm over
the swarm of children
at her heels, "Want their
pap."

"Who are you?" the
now thoroughly fright-
ened woman faltered.

"Me him wife, an'
her, an' her, and her,
an' her," and she point-
ed to each successively,
"an' we came for him."
You not think so? Read this then," and
coming near she held up to her horrified
gaze a paper which she recognized as a
marriage certificate, antedating her own
by several years and made to Push-ma-
ta-ha and Mary Tiger. She read and for
the first time in her life she swooned, and
fell into the arms of her friends whom
she accompanied back to the North, while
the re-united family finished up the feast
and finding their present quarters much
to their liking, they remained ; and the
daughter of Moty Tiger holding the whip
hand over her repentent spouse, his au-
thority and greatness ended, he v/ent no
more a-courting, and Red Wing made
no more moccasins for him to give away
or sell. Push-ma-ta-ha cut off his braids
and sat down to wait for old age — a dis-
credited and broken brave.

THANKSGIVING

OR HOW SETH WILKINS BOUGHT THE ROAST

By A. H. BOWERS

SETH WILKINS was a proper mart, a man of .amilee ;
And as his neighbors all averred, respectabilitie
Had always been his strongest point ; for never was he
known
To overstep the bounds of that decorum all his own.

So, when Thanksgiving eve came round, Seth Wilkins did

prepare
To give his wife and children all the regulation fare.
With ten good hard earned dollars he forth sallied to procure
The toothsome bird, with such things as to thankfulness inure.

But Seth had hardly gone a block before he met a chum,
Who said: "Well met, pal ! What's your lay ? Turkeys!
course ! By gum,
I might a knowed it! Man alive, I'm after turkeys, too!
But let us take a social glass ! Tain't often I'm with you!

Of

And, so, with good intent they strolled down the busy way,
And spoke of all they planned to do upon Thanksgiving day ;
Until, alluringly displayed, Seth soon a sign descried :
"Grand Turkev Raffle ! Ten a Throw ! Two Hundred Birds
Inside !"

They down'd a glass ; then said his chum : "Seth, let us try a

throw !"
And. wishful for cheap turkey meat, cried Wilkins : "It's a go !"
Dame fortune smiled propitious on the newly sportive twain ;
For both threw high, and Wilkins' pal was winner of the main.

They had another drink, and then, poor Seth with envious eye
Gaz'd on his friend's retreating form, with turkey jauntily
Tuck'd 'neath his arm. Seth sighed,alas ! and ere he turned to go
Essayed a second chance ; likewise, he took or drink or so.

- G

fe i^

W

J5| ^s^=

lw"

w

A

THANKSGIVING.

49

He lost ; and, straightway, on hun grew a fierce desire to win.
He threw and drank, and drank and threw, until his roll grew

thin.
He changed his last one dollar bill ; but not for him the prize !
Nor goose, nor turkey large or small ! nor, eke, of any size !

With swift compunction came the thought of wife and children

who
At home awaited his return with turkey — trimmins, too.
He searched his pockets o'er and o'er, but all that he could find
Was eighty cents. He felt that fate to him had been unkind.

J ,„

'D'ye want to buy a turkey, pal ?" asked one who'd captured
three.
."How much," Quoth Seth, whilst fingering his small change

dubiously.
"A drink '11 do, and take your choice ! I don't need mor'n one •
And he's at home! I only played this raffle just for fun!"

"And here's a goose," another laughed, "agoin' at the price !"
Poor Seth, o'erjoyed at fortune's turn, accepted in a trice.
A moment later saw him arm'd with plenty on the street;
Triumphant, if a little bit unsteady on his feet.

Now all went well until the goose, unwilling to be cooped,
With sudden effort made escape from arm too loosely crooked.
Seth, part surprised and part bemused, grabbed at his fleeing

meal,
And, thus, the turkey managed, too; to 'scape a like ordeal.

The turkey gobbled up the street ; the goose went hissing down ;
Seth. hesitated and was lost, like others of renown.
The children, shoppers, loungers all, join'd in hilarious chase;
Their owner realized his was a very serious case.

At home his tale was scouted, whilst excuses met with fleers.
His "Missus" was indignant ; and his children all in tears.
A sudden knock brought respite, and the door was oped to show
Two gleeful urchins ; one with turkey, one with goose in tow.

RANI THE
SOULLESS

By MARGARET STABLER

ANI YAMANAI had no
soul. She would have
told you as frankly and
cheerfully as she would
have told you she had no
shoes ; and the one would
have trammeled her no less than the
other, ftiis wild young creature of the
forest. The animals knew her stealthy
velvet tread as well as she knew theirs ;
the birds answered her call when she
chirped or twittered to them, and argued
in a common tongue when she marauded
their preserves of the first ripe pan or the
last sweet mahua. She knew the hour
for every jungle blossom, the nesting
time of the maina, the flight of the shik-
hara, and the four wild winds of heaven
were no wilder nor freer than she.

The women of Rani's house had all
been honorably disposed of long before
they were her age. They had been be-
trothed and married by their tenth year,
and had become the mothers of sons or
endured the rites of Suttee with their de-
ceased husbands — either with equal in-
difference, as fulfilling their duty in both
cases. But Rani, the fairest of the
house, was not married, was not be-
trothed ; consequently she had no hope
of salvation, and was thereby bringing
disgrace upon her father's head, both in
this world and in the next.

Yet, all unconsciously, the silken-
haired Rani was living in a little Golden
Age of her own where, as long
as she remained unmarried she es-
caped, together with countless oth-
er evils, the awful responsibility of
an immortal soul. To the custom
of child marriage is doubtless
due the perpetuation of the
Hindo race ; for where is the
woman grown to years

of discretion who would voluntarily ex-
change her glorious butterfly state of
unaccountability for the bondage of a
soul? Moreover, the Hindoo woman,
once married becomes the slave and
chattel of her husband, and is forever
and ever married. Manu, the Law-
giver, tells them that a faithful wife,
who, after the death of her husband con-
tinues constant to him, gains in this
world the highest renown and in the
next a place near her husband. Thus,
whatever else may be the reward of her
faithfulness, it certainly is not emanci-
pation. For, according to the popular
belief, there is no other heaven for a
woman than the mansion of her hus-
band, where she enjoys the bliss of be-
ing near him. Consequently, the only
hope of independence of her husband
held out to the Hindoo woman is in
hell.

And now Amanti was proposed to
Rani for a husband. But the willful
daughter wrapped her pasodi about her
ears and refused to hear a word of ar-
gument ; and the old father was forced
to admit, with shame and contrition,
that he was a weakling in the contest
with the fierce defiance of a girl who
had been born in the jungle
and into whose veins had en-
tered the tiger's blood. But,
when Rani felt the old man's
trembling hands upon her
head and his tears falling up-
on her silken locks, there
seemed something of the ser-
pent's blood mingled with the
tiger's, for she lost her re-
bellious mood, twined herself
about him, and coaxed the
strength back into his feeble
hands and the hope into

MARGARET STABLER.

51

his heart by fair promises and ca-
joleries. When the tiger-mood re-
turned, however, she was off again
to the jungle, as wild and free and
as willful as ever, until the old father
sent and begged her to come home.

Amanti, the last suitor, was short and
swart, and known to be of no account ,
but of this Rani was not supposed to
reck, for the Code of Manu says ex-
plicitly :

"Though destitute of virtue, or seek-
ing pleasure elsewhere, or devoid of
good qualities, a husband must be at all
times worshipped as a god by a faithful
wife:"

And Amanti was as good as many,
and better than some of the suitors pre-
sented at her father's house ; but while
the Hindoo female mind is not trained
to methods of exact reasoning, some-
thing, perhaps the cunning of the tiger,
kept the fair Rani at bay. And this
state of affairs might have endured in-
definitely, if the English had never pen-
etrated into the Punjab, and if young
Johnstone had never gone into the army.

A tropic jungle has many advantages
over a prim English lawn or hawthorn-
hedged garden. The spreading banyan
tree, with its stately colonnades of hang-
ing roots, stands like an open portal to
invite you to explore the mysteries that
lie beyond ; the towering pipal spreads
its mass of feathery foliage to screen
you from the torrid suns ; and the tama-
rind fans you with its plumy crest. The
flowering creepers, that catch from tree
to tree, wave and beckon to you with
their long green arms ; their gorgeous
blossoms almost open their red lips and
smile at you to lure you farther and
farther into their depths, until you sink
down, a willing victim, to their heavy
scents and brilliant colorings. The
feathery babul lends itself knowingly as
a screen for curious eyes, and the love-
liest face is lovelier laughing through
the shadow of its branches. At least
this was the first half-formed impression
that flashed into the young Briton's mind
upon their first chance encounter. And
Rani's eyes grew brighter and the vis-

ion grew more lovely, as she descried
from her hiding-place among the glow-
ing blossoms the pink-cheeked young of-
ficer. With the first quick glance at
the tall European, poor Amanti's cause
was irretrievably lost.

Here, now, was the solution of it all !
This was the sort of man Manu must
have had in his mind when he said, "a
husband must be at all times "worshipped
as a god by a faithful wife." This tall,
fair-skinned creature was certainly a
god ; and Rani, with a charming lack of
diffidence, resolved that she would be
his wife and worship him at all times as
a god. Likewise a certain young Eng-
lish girl with blue eyes, had, only a few
months before, promised this fair-
skinned creature to be the first, and had
taken it upon herself to do the second
of Rani's resolves. But she had only
the setting of a prim hawthorn-hedged
garden; while the air of the jungle, the
beckoning vine-wreaths; the mocking
mouths of the flowers, and — oh, well,
Blue-Eyes was a long way off, and she
had promised to wait!

The invitation of the banyan's open
portal was frequently obeyed, the shade
of the towering pipal made an ideal
trvsting-place, and the form of the Hin-
doo stood out against its glowing back-
ground like a young Greek goddess
done in bronze.

With the coming of the god the tiger-
moods grew less and less frequent, and
the serpent moods took their place. The
sturdy Briton forgot his mother-country,
its prim English lawns and the blue-
eyed girl who had promised to wait ;
forgot his God, the honor of his post,
and all the life that lay before him, while
the smiling Hindoo beguiled him with
words and wiled him with caresses till
the soul of him was not his own.

Then the seasons turned, and the
swinging vine-wreaths bowed their
heads in the dust; but, when the suns
came again and called them back to
life, they saw the same lovers keeping
the same trysts.

But the old sickening horror crept
back upon the girl, the horror that had
overshadowed all her life, the same re-
bellious protest that she had cherished

52

RANI, THE SOULLESS.

ever since she had been old enough to
know the meaning of the lives of those
she saw about her. She could never,
never, never be a widow ! She would
never suffer to have her silken locks
shorn away, to wear old brown gar-
ments, to be called an "inauspicious
thing," and to be looked upon as the
off-scouring of the earth. If she could be
assured she would never be a widow, she
would snap her fingers in the face of
any other calamity that might come to
her; but she could not, would not bear
that insupportable curse of Hindoo
widowhood. Neither, with all the earth
about her teeming with life and prom-
ise, and all her young blood bounding
with the sheer animal joy of living,
could she bring her mind to consider
the horrible rites of Suttee. Yet, some-
thing must be done ! for, with the com-
ing of the stranger, had come the awak-
ening of a feeling the like of which her
dark little mind had never dreamed ; a
longing and a yearning and a sense of
incompleteness she could not under-
stand ; until, at last, after days of dejec-
tion and weeping, the suspicion broke
upon her that it must be the lack of a
soul. She did not know that the more
enlightened had another name for this
tender longing; for the women of her
house certainly did not love their hus-
bands, although they might worship
them as gods. They had been their
father's property and had now become
the possessions of their husbands, to be
classed as "marital property" along with
the "cows, mares, goats and camels."
Rani realized now, however, that she
could escape no longer. She must have
a soul at any cost! All her life seemed
suddenly empty and colorless, while the
possibility of life with a soul glowed
with such a glorious wholeness that the
mere contemplation of it overwhelmed
her. The woods and the birds lost
their charm of companionship ; she felt
immeasureably older than the girl who
had laughed through the vines at the
stranger a few months before ; and from
the innermost depths of her being rang
the cry for this inexplicable thing — it
must be a soul ! But, to acquire it, she
must marry; and, if she should marry,

who could know but that she might
some day be a widow ? She shuddered at
the mere mention of the word ; for,
among all her relatives and friends who
had lost their husbands, there was not
one whose life was not a hideous night-
mare, and her nature rose in fierce re-
volt at the possibility of sharing their
fate. As Johnstone could give her no
guarantee of longevity, he was power-
less to assuage her fears ; but the cry of
his heart was "Rani !" and her pertur-
bation was beyond his fathoming.

Round and round in this labyrinth of
fear and longing her excited thoughts
circled, growing more bewildered at ev-
ery turn. But hers was not a nature
to sit down and cry for a light! With
one bold stroke she would cut her way
out, and be thenceforward free to live
out her life in the enjoyment of the
coveted soul ! At last, a plan was com-
plete in her little Hindoo mind, a mar-
vel of directness ! This wild longing and
intolerable feeling of incompleteness
were not to be endured another day !
With a defiance amounting almost to fe-
rocity, she decided she would never put
herself in a position to become a wid-
ow ! She would cheat Yama, the King
of Death, and possess herself of this
fair-skinned creature's pink and white
sotd, whatever the penalty might be !
She would even suffer the degradation
of the whole number, the eight million,
four hundred thousand incarnations be-
fore she could be reabsorbed into the
Spirit!

Now for courage and a little patience
— the tiger and the serpent ! The soul
would be hers ! This relentless longing
stilled ! Young Johnstone's regiment was
ordered back to the hills. In a few
days he would be among new people
and new scenes ; and, with love's quick
suspicion, the girl guessed there misrht
be new Ranis, while she — but here the
tigress within her arose and crouched
for a final spring.

The jungle grass was very high, and
no one dared penetrate as far as she in-
to its depth. Step by step she had
planned it all. The confident young
Briton followed the little flying figure
through the banyan's stately portal, in

MARGARET STABLER.

53

and out of the clustering undergrowth,

through a wild riot of tangled vines and

grasses, heedless of the trackless waste

behind him. and all unconscious of the

fate awaiting him. The chase was long

and merry ; till, at

at last, laughing

and breathless, the

wily Hindoo sank

down beneath the

green masses of a

pipol tree. Her

smiling lips were

redder than the

glowing blossoms

overhead, redder

than human lips

are ever tinted. But

the Briton did not

know the brilliant

little haml berry;

and, if the dye was

deadly, how could

he tell ?

The swinging
vine-wreaths sway-
ed above him ; the
silken locks waved
about him ; the
burning eyes bent
over him, as, with
her scarlet lips she
kissed him, and
again and again she
kissed him, sending

the malignant haml poison through ev-
ery bursting vein that even the fast-fail-
ing stupor could not soothe. The sway-
ing wreaths grew dim ; the smilin • face
above him became the face of a mocking
fiend, till it, too, be-
gan to sway, and,
finally, grew dim.
Then, as the Hin-
doo saw the pink
and white cheeks
grow purple, the
eyes roll up and
cease to know her,
she bent low over
him, took his head
into her arms and
caught the last ex-
piring sigh that
told his soul was
freed, and received
it into her own
warm body. Then
covering the lifeless
form with glowing
blossoms, she look-
ed down into the
face of her dead
love with a tri-
umphant smile —
confident in the be-
lief that Rani Yam-
anai had a soul.

DUTCHY

By CORINNE D. GOODMAN

T'S your turn, Mr. ?"

"Hayes is my name'
Tom Hayes !''

The speaker was one
of a party of four; the
chance acquaintances of
a railroad journey, whose tedium we
had sought to beguile by means of the
exchange of alleged personal expe-
riences.

"I must certainly own up to having
run up against it pretty
good and hard," he re-
marked after a thought-
ful pause, "but I'm
afraid that I'm a failure
so far as story-telling
goes !"

"Fire ahead !" we
urged.

"I was born on a
farm in Southern Illi-
nois," he complied,
"where I had a good
home, and should have
been content to stay.
But, like a great many
other young fellows, I
wanted to see the world ;
and, finally when my old
dad put some fancied
slight upon me, I packed my duds and,
without even bidding the folks good-bye,
went to Chicago.

"It didn't take me many weeks to find
my level there. Not over long in edu-
cation and experience, I was distinct-
ly short in the matter of money ; so, in
less than no time, I was up against it.
' "The weather, even, contributed to my
many discomforts. It was winter — an
uncommonly cold one, even for Chicago
— and I was without an overcoat or a
sufficiency of other warm clothing. I
had, in fact, parted with my belongings

"In this fix, and with only a few cents
in my pocket, I found myself one day
opposite the bulletin board outside a la-
bor bureau. A hundred men, it an-
nounced, were wanted to work down
South on railroad construction. Free
pass, good pay, etc., etc.

"The idea of getting away from Chi-
cago's biting winds and bitter weather
appealed strongly to me ; and, within a
few minutes, I had concluded the for-
malities necessary to en-
rollment as a section
hand. Three days later,
I was plying a pick and
shovel with the best of
them.

"Take us all in all,
we were a queer lot.
With the exception of
the boss, a German,
commonly known as
'Dutchy,' and myself, the
gang was composed of
dagoes of the worst class.
"As luck would have
it, I quarreled with
'Dutchy' at the very out-
set being quick with my
fists, as well as quick
tempered, and gave him
a pounding for which he afterwards
bore me undisguised malice.

"The boss was a good fellow enough,
but uncommunicative. Thus, with the
dagoes out of the question and with
'Dutchy' sulky, my social possibilities
were strictly limited. Luckily, howev-
er, relief arrived in the shape of a gen-
ial widow and her only daughter, who
blew into camp and quickly reorganized
our feeding arrangements. These hith-
erto had been of a primitive nature ; so,
all of us, I think, on that score alone,
were duly grateful.

"But to me personally, their arrival
one by one, in order to keep body and meant a good deal more. There was

Dutchy

soul together.

now somebody to talk to in my idle

CORINNE D. GOODMAN.

55

moments ! The girl, too, was of a beauty
unusual anywhere, and, under the cir-
cumstances, an object to be worshipped.

"At all events, so thought I ; and
at least one other shared my opinion.
This other was the 'Boss ;' who, if not
quite so constant a devotee at its shrine
as myself, put in an appearance at the
'kitchen' much too frequently to suit my
wishes. Indeed, it was seldom that he
failed to upset whatever plans I made
to gain a corner, even for an hour, on
the fair Polly's society.

" 'Look here, Hayes !' he said to me
one day.' If you're acting on the square,
well and good! If not, get out! I mean
to marry the girl, if I can get her.'

"This was straight
talk, and I liked him all
the better for it. 'Let
the best man win!' I
said.

"A few days later he
had trouble with the
dagoes. How it origi-
nated, I never knew ;
and, like all happenings
of the kind, it was over
in an instant. One mo-
ment, all was going
smoothly ; the next, the
dagoes were crowding
round him and gesticu-
lating like madmen. That
much I could see from
where I was working,
some distance away ;
and, scenting danger, I
ran as hard as my
legs would carry me towards the scene
of the commotion. But, prompt though
I was, I was too late. Before I had
covered half the distance, I saw the
boss throw up his arms and fall to the
ground, though I could not be positive
as to his assailant.

"I knew at once, upon reaching his
side, that he was in a very bad way ; for,
in the few moments that had elapsed, his
face had turned an ashen gray, and his
lips were blue. Blood, too, was gush-
ing from a wound in the region of his
heart.

To stoop down and raise his insensi-

Polly

ble form was the work of a moment. In
another, I had torn a bandanna from
my neck, made it into a pad, and press-
ed it tightly over his hurt ; feeling, how-
ever, that in the absence of a doctor, my
efforts were worse than useless. A few
minutes later, it became plainly evident
that his breathing had ceased.

In the meantime the dagoes had been
regarding me with no very friendly air ;
and when I laid the dead 'Boss' on the
ground and rose to my feet, their looks
conveyed an actual menace. They com-
menced to jabber excitedly ; and, though
I did not understand a single word of
their lingo, I realized fully that, as a
witness to the crime, my
own life was placed in
the deadliest peril.

"What might have
been the outcome it is
impossible to say ; but,
just as I was calculating
the chances of making
a successful break in the
direction of the camp, a
locomotive with a ca-
boose came slowly down
the completed roadbed.

"To say that I felt re-
lieved, is putting it more
than mildly. The da-
goes jabbered faster than
ever.

"At length, after what
seemed an age, the loco-
motive was brought to
a standstill ; and five
men who alighted from the caboose
walked briskly towards us.

"Even at a distance, it must have been
apparent that something had gone
amiss ; and, as soon as the newcomers
had reached the scene of the killing, one,
who seemed to be in authority, sternly
asked: 'What is the meaning of this?'

"The question was addressed to me
as, I supposed, the only American pres-
ent.

"'Murder!' I answered gravely.
" 'Yes ! Yes ! He killa de Boss !' shout-
ed the dagoes, like a stage chorus. They
pointed, too, at the blood with which I

56

DUTCHY.

was covered as a proof of the charge.

"It was in vain that I made indignant
denial. Appearances were dead against
me. Even the blood-stained knife,
which was lying against the bank on
which I had laid the boss' body, proved
on inspection to be of American make.

"To cut a long story short, I was held
and tried on a charge of murder. Ap-
pearances, and the evidence appeared
terribly conclusive, and as the latter pro-
gressed, I abandoned all hopes of prov-
ing my innocence. Dago after dago
swore that I had struck the fatal blow.
One giant of a cut-throat mien, in par-
ticular, supplied an apparently adequate
motive by testifying that the dead man
and I had been rivals for the affections
of attractive Polly Bullen. The girl
herself was put on the stand ; and, by
an unwilling admission that the dago
spoke the truth, helped to fasten the
guilt upon me.

"It availed nothing, as everyone felt,
that the young attorney, who had volun-
teered to look after my interests, made
an eloquent plea on behalf of the ac-
cused ; of no avail was it that he urged
the inherent probability of a conspiracy
amongst the Italians and the convincing
sincerity of his client's story. An ad-
verse verdict seemed assured. How-
ever, just as the judge had commenced
to address the jury, a commotion arose
on the outskirts of the crowd.

" 'A man who has this moment en-
tered, insists on giving evidence,' a po-
lice sergeant announced.

"Whereupn, in fact, the newcomer
spoke for himself.

"'Ja, Judge, I spik!'

The voice was 'Dutchy's. Never had
human tones sounded so sweet to my
ears. I nodded to my attorney. He
sprang to his feet.

" Your Honor,' he said, T ask per-
mission to introduce this man's evidence
on behalf of the accused.'

" 'The proceeding is unusual ; but, in
view of the fact that life or death hinges
on the verdict, I would suggest that the
prosecution waive the point,' his honor
said.

" 'We have no desire to arrive at oth-

er than a just conclusion. There is no
objection on the part of the prosecution
to this man's evidence,' replied the at-
torney, who was conducting the State's
case.

" 'Dutchy,' accordingly, having been
duly sworn, was' taken in hand by the
defence. Bwt, inasmuch as his knowl-
edge of the English language was ex-
tremely limited, the questions, as a rule,
had to be repeated in a simplified form
in order to reach his comprehension.
These, if my memory serves me aright,
were somewhat as follows :

" You were one of the men working
under Mr. Harris on December ninth
last?'

"'Ja!' .

" 'Do you remember what happened
on that day?'

"'Ja!'

"'What was it?'

" 'Der boss had one knife into him
stooked.'

" 'You were near when this was
done ?'

" 'Shoost so close like I vas to
you!'

" 'You saw, then, who stuck the knife
into the Boss?'

'"Ja!"

" 'Would you know him again ?'

"'Ja!'

" 'Look at the prisoner.'

"Dutchy turned stolidly towards me.

" 'Is this the man who did it?'

" 'Nein !'

" 'Are you sure ?'

"'Ja!'

" 'Where was the pristoner at that
time?'

" 'Aboot dri hoondret yardts away he
was.'

" 'What did he do when the boss was
struck ?'

" 'He run like der teufel undt the
boss uplift.'

" 'He ran and lifted up the boss?'

"'Ja!'

"'Afterwards?'

" 'He make mit his neck-scarf the
bloot to stop.'

'"He tried to stop the bleeding?'

"'Ja!'

CORTNNK D. GOODMAN.

57

" 'In doing this, did he get blood on
his clothes?'

"'Ja!'

" 'That is all, your Honor.'

"Here the prosecution took him in
hand.

" 'You have sworn that the prisoner
at the bar did not inflict the wound that
caused the boss' death?'

"'Ja!'

" 'You knew, then, all this time that
he was innocent?'

"'Ja!'

" 'If that is so, why did you wait un-
til the very last moment to give your
evidence ?'

" 'I him not lofe.'

'"You do not like him?'

" 'Nein !'

'"Why do you not like him?'

" 'Also, mit his fists he me beat.'

" 'He beat vou ?'

"'Ja!'

" 'And for that reason you were will-
ing to see him hanged?'

"'Ja!'

" 'Having delayed so long, why are
you here now ?'

" 'Also, die madchen him lofes.'

" 'What voung ladv loves him ?'

"'Die fraulein Pollee!'

'"'Miss Pollv Bullen?'

"'Ja!'

" 'She asked you, I suppose, to give
this evidence?'

" 'Nein !'

" 'You are here, then, simply because
the voung lady loves him?'

" 'Nein !'

" 'Have you forgiven him the beat-
ing?'

"'Nein! Nein!'

"Here a pause ensued. Dutchy's
hitherto impassive face betrayed palpa-
ble evidence of an inward struggle ; and,
I take it, the prosecuting counsel di-
vining that he would speak unquestioned,
forebore to do so. At all events, he
blurted out:

"I haf coom here to safe dot man's
life becoss I meinself die madchen lofe.
She will not my frau become, undt she
ees veeping always eef he will die. I
no lofe to see herveep.'

"To cut a long story short. I was
acquitted on Dutchy's evidence, which,
of course, besides bearing all the ear-
marks of truth, tallied exactly with that
offered by the defense. The big dago,
who had been so vindictive against me,
Dutchy also identified as the perpetra-
tor of the crime ; and, in due course, that
worthy was brought to trial, condemned
to death, and finally hanged.

"At the conclusion of the trial, in spite
of his avowed dislike and the fact that
his delay in coming forward with his
vital evidence had almost resulted in my
going to the gallows, I stepped impul-
sively forward, seized Dutchy by the
hand and shook it warmly.

"He accepted this mark of my grati-
tude with the stolid indifference that
had characterized him throughout the
trial ; but, when Polly threw her arms
around his neck and kissed him square-
lv on the mouth, he gasped : 'Du lieber
Gott !'

"As he turned to go, too, a tear welled
from each eye and trickled slowly down
each brick-colored cheek.

"Polly is now my wife, and will be
happy to welcome you, gentlemen, any
time you come our way."

To this invitation we made suitable
acknowledgment.

"A most interesting story," remarked
one of the party, a Chicago drummer."
And what makes it the more so to me
is the fact that I remember perfectly
reading the account of the trial in the
daily papers."

"Indeed !" remarked Mr. Hayes.

"Curiously enough," remarked the
fourth member of the party, a St. Louis
confrere, I met your friend, 'Dutchy,' in
Gainesville, about a year ago. A tall,
sandy fellow with a big corporation, if
I'm not mistaken."

"Possibly !"

"Possibly?"

"Well ! to be frank, I've not quite
made up my mind as to those minor de-
tails. I was too busy concocting the
story proper."

The drummers opined it was time for
refreshments.

ftilL&a&:

By FRANK H. SWEET

JELS PESSNER moved
haltingly along the face of
the cliff, crouching almost
to the rock to obtain the
slight concealment afford-
ed by a few stunted bushes
that struggled up from the out-
side crevices, until he arrived at a
sharp bend, where he rose cautiously to
his feet and gave a quick glance down
into the valley and back over the way he
had come.

It was a wild, rocky way, ending in
this long climb up the face of the moun-
tain, but his glance flashed over it in a
swift, comprehensive scrutiny. All was
desolation, solitude, save at the base of
the very slope up which he was strug-
gling, where a compact group of men
were following his trail, as surely and
unrelentingly as bloodhounds. Even as
his glance flashed down at them there
came the returning flash of sunlight on a
leveled rifle barrel into his eyes, and he
ducked and slipped around the bend. As
he did so a bullet flattened against the
rock behind where his head had been.

"Steve Finter," he thought grimly.
"No other man can shoot like this. He
must have seen my head bob up. But it
don't make any difference now. They're
hot on my trail, and seeing me can't
make them come any faster. This morn-
ing they were four hours away, now
they're less than one. # If I can only get
up to my cabin I won't mind. I can pick
off Steve from there, and maybe some
of the others before they close in. I — I
hope Luisita ain't to home."

Around the bend the narrow path
broadened and flattened into a small pla-
teau or valley which cut back into the
mountain like a wedge. Across this
plunged a little stream, on the banks of
which were two or three miner's cabins.

Beyond, the mountain again rose sheer,
and well up on the face of this was Sels
Pessner's cabin. Here he and Steve Fin-
ter-had worked together, in seeming har-
mony, until one day Steve had slipped
down to the mining camp below and ac-
cused his partner of having robbed and
attempted to murder him, and of being a
horse thief and contemplating other bold
robberies in the neighborhood in the near
future, and had so ingratiated himself
with the sheriff as to be sworn in as a
deputy to help in the capture.

The first intimation Sels had had of
the accusation was seeing the sheriff's
posse approaching the cabin, and almost
at the same moment receiving a bullet in
his shoulder. Other bullets had follow-
ed, but in some way he had escaped.
Since then it had been running and dodg-
ing, with the sheriff and his men often in
sight, but never allowing him to ap-
proach near enough for parlev. Two
days before, he had eluded them and
hurried to the mining camp, slipping in
at night and conferring with some of his
friends. The next day they had done a
little quiet investigating for him, while
he remained concealed in one of their
homes. That night, in spite of their
warnings and expostulations, he had
started back toward home, his face stern
and his eyes full of angry determination.

PRANK H. SWEET.

S$

But when lie saw the posse and threw up
his hands in token of surrender, with a
paper held conspicuously in one hand, in-
stead of being allowed near .enough to
speak, as he expected, a bullet from
Steve's rifle found lodgment in his ankle,
almost bringing him to the ground. Oth-
er bullets followed, and only that he was
quick with his own rifle and intimidated
them until he
could dodge
among the rocks,
they would have
ended the chase
there.

After that he
skulked and
dodged and
-climbed for
hours, using a
piece of broken
limb in place of
the ankle that
was almost use-
less, suffering
agony at every
step, and with
only the hope of
reaching his cab-
in anil making
the last stand as
retaliatory a s
possible. At the
bend the bullet
flattened against
the rock showed
that his former
partner was still
vigilant, and that
whatever fight
there was to be
would be on
sight, to the
death. There
would be no con-
ference.

As he crossed
into the small valley he tried to keep with-
in the screen of foliage as much as he
could. Luisita lived in the cabin near-
est, with her Mexican father. She would
know and grieve, of course ; but he
would spare her as long as possible.

However, as he was pushing his way

through the undergrowth nearly opposite
the cabin, he came upon her suddenly,
carrying her rifle. At sight of him her
face flushed, then paled.

"Senor Sels," she cried ;"Oh, why are
you here ? They are down in the val-
ley. I saw them not an hour ago from
the cliff. They will kill you. Hurry!
hurry ! you should not have tried to see

me now."

"I did not,"
striving to make
his voice steady ;
"I tried to avoid
you, Luisita. I
wanted to spare
you all I could.
But this is the
only way to my
cabin, and — "

"Y o u arc
hurt," sharply,
at the agony in
his face.

"Just a trifle.
But listen, Luis-
ita. Whatever
the charges
against me, I
know that you
believe me inno-
cent. I shall not
question that.
But yesterday I
was in the town
and obtained
proof positive of
Steve's guilt —
enough to hang
him. Only I
cannot get word
with the sheriff.
I have given up
thought of it
now. They are
hot on my trail,
and will be here
I can do is try

All

in twenty minutes.
to reach my cabin."

"That will not save you," she expostu-
lated.

"No," grimly, "I know it won't. But
it will help me to even up the score a lit-
tle."

6o

AT THE BEND.

The girl threw out her hands imperi-
ously.

"It shall not be that way," she cried,
her eyes flashing. "You shall be saved
and Senor Steve punished. And yet I
do not understand. Why should he — '
"For plenty of reasons, Luisita. You
promised to marry me after refusing
him ; and then, only two hours before he
left, we found a vein of silver — how-
rich I do not flare to conjecture; but
it made Steve dry to kill uie, ami failing,
to run away He came back with the
sheriff and his posse. What story he
told I can only guess ; but you can un-
derstand what it would mean to him if I
could be disposed of before telling any-
thing. I — where are you going, Luis-
ita?"

"To the bend round the cliff," over
her shoulder. "It is the only way into
the valley, and I shall hold the men until
you can get away." She was already rods
away, plunging through the bushes with
the one thought of being at the bend in
advance of the sheriff's posse.

They were edging cautiously across a
narrow shelf only a few rods below
when she reached there and threw her
rifle into position. It was too good a
chance to be lost.

"Hands up !" she ordered sternly.
"I said hands up," Luisita repeated
slowly. "I am not making words, and
most of you know how I can shoot.
Senor Sels is escaping from you now,
and I shall keep you here until he is
safe. Stop !" as a rifle barrel rose a
little, "or I shall shoot. You may kill
me, but I can send half of you from that
ledge before you do it — and I will. Now,
up ! quick !"

All the hands rose except Steve's.
With a bitter curse he threw his rifle
into quick position ; but before he could
fire it slipped from his nerveless fingers

and he sank upon the shelf, only saving
himself from falling over the precipice
by a desperate effort.

"That is one," called the girl coldly.
"He is not killed, only disabled by a ball
through the hip. The rest of you may
not be so fortunate. I am ready to kill
all of you before you do harm to my
promised husband."

"But look here, Luisita," expostulated
the sheriff angrily. "Don't you under-
stand the consequences of thwarting the
law in thif manner?"

"You are nut upholding the law," con-
temptuously. ' Yuu are merely helping
a criminal. If Senor Sels were here — "
"He is here," said a quiet voice at her
side, and another rifle barrel joined hers
in menacing the whitening faces on the
ledge below. "Now Sheriff," the voice
suddenly ringing out clear and stern,
"you will take your men and hurry back-
to town. And I would advise you to
take Steve Finter along. The truth is
known there now, as you will find, and it
may be that you and your men will have
to explain a few things. But it would
have been worse had you killed me.
Hereafter when you seek a man, hear
his story as well as that of his accuser. I
have proofs of my innocence and Steve's
guilt with me, and have been watching
for a chance to give them to you. But
you have prevented. Now I shall rely
on our rifles. If one of you so much as
makes a movement with his rifle in this
direction we will kill him. Now go !"

They stood there side by side, watch-
ing them down the mountain, then Sels
lowered his rifle.

"I — I think you'll have to help me to
the cabin, dear," he said weakly. "I'm
a little used up." Then he reeled and
fell unconscious into her arms. But the
danger was over.

A SUCCESSFUL FAILURE

By PERCY T. CARNES

|0U! Hey Louiza! where
are you?"

"Here, in the sewing-
room. For mercy's sake,
John, what is it? Why all
this bluster?"
"Lou, hurrah !" and the excited "man
of the house" rushed into the sewing-
room, literally lifted his wife from her
chair, held her high in his strong arms
and waltzed around the house in a glee-
ful manner, so unusual to one so sedate
that the little woman feared for his san-
ity.

The cause of all this flurry was sim-
ply this :

John Temple had been to the post-of-
fice. No, there was nothing unusual
about his going to the post-office ; he
went three times daily, with the regular-
ity of a day-laborer going to his meals.
But to the one letter in his box is due
the blustering manner in which he
rushed into his house, and the fright
occasioned his wife.

"John Temple ! Are you drunk or
crazy? Turn me loose this minute, and
explain yourself," and the tone of his
wife's voice brought the hilarious hus-
band to his wonted sedateness.

After depositing the little woman in
her easy chair and implanting a kiss on
her tremulous lips, he said :

"Louiza, my dear, pardon me. I didn't
mean to frighten you. Really, I didn't.
Such an unusual demonstration of joy
is so at variance with my habitual mulli-
grubiness, I don't wonder you were
frightened."

"Please, John, don't use such outland-
ish words. Dispiritedness is much more
genteel and fully as expressive."

"Very well, my love ; dispiritedness it
shall be. But dispirited / shall be no
more. Louiza, listen: It has come!"

"What has come, John? Do sit down
and explain !"

"What has come? Fame and wealth!"
"John Temple, are you drunk?"
"Louiza Temple, you know me too
well to be guilty of asking such a ques-
tion. You know that I never drink a
drop of anything stronger than bottled
magnetic. No, my dear, I am not
drunk ; I am duly sober and in my right
mind. The absolute certainty of imme-
diate wealth and glory may have intoxi-
cated me, but the intoxication is harm-
less."

"John, have you reallv successfully
placed "The Flag of Truce?"

"No."

"Has the editor of 'Literary Forum'
really accepted 'The Downfall of His
Highness,' and remitted for the same
at fifty cents a word?"

"Not yet!"

"Then 'The Muleteer' must have won
that five-thousand-dollar prize in Apri-
cott's short-story contest?"

" 'The Muleteer' has been offered to
six other publishers since its return from
Apricott's ; it is too travel-worn to be
serviceable !"

"Then what ?"

"Guess."

"I can't."

"Well, I am asked to go on the Ly-
ceum platform !"

"You?"

"Me!"

"What for? To run the curtains?"

"Lou, don't make sport of me. I am
asked to enter the lecture field."

"But, John, you are not an orator;
you never made a speech in your life."

"Never delivered an oration, you
mean."

"Well, smarty, what are you going to
do about it?"

"Do about what? Making a speech?"

"No ; delivering an oration ?"

"Seriously, Lou ; what do you think
about my going into the lecture field?"

62

A SUCCESSFUL FAILURE.

"I think it preposterously absurd for
you to entertain such an idea. You
would be more at home in the corn
field!"

"Perhaps I would. Nevertheless, I
have been asked to deliver the opening
lecture at the Jonesboro Lyceum, and I
shall do it. It will be a splendid op-
portunity to exercise my dormant ora-
torical powers and introduce myself to a
large and appreciative circle of the truly
literary — of whom I am one !"

The not altogether pleasant colloquy
ended by John Temple striding noisily
from the house. At heart, he knew that
his wife had the better of the argument,
but the knowledge only served as an ir-
ritant.

For four years he had served as prin-
cipal of the village school. During
those four years, he had purchased, and
partially paid for, their little home. But
when solicited by the trustees to accept
the position for another school year, he
declined the honor.

"I thank you, gentlemen, for the prof-
fered honor," he had said courteously ;
"but I am tired of close confinement. I
have other plans for the future."

His ambition was to become an auth-
or. He would write short stories and
scientific articles for high-class maga-
zines. There would be fame and money
in it. After his little home was paid
for, he would write a book, or perhaps
a number of books. Others had amassed
fortunes bv writing stories, whv not
he?

Feverishly, indeed, did he apply him-
self to the task of writing his first story.
It was to be entered in a short-story
contest in Apricott's Family Magazine.
A prize of five thousand dollars was to
be awarded to the author of the best
story.

When John Temple read his four-
thousand - word, five - thousand - dollar
story to his wife, that wise little body
pronounced it "good" — "but" — .

"O, well ; there is a possibility that I
may not win the prize ; but I am morally
sure Apricott's will accept 'The Mule-
teer' and pay for it at their regular rate
of ten cents a word. That will be four

hundred dollars — nearly as much as I
would receive for a year's teaching; anjd
I have written this story in a little less
than four weeks."

When not too deeply absorbed in plot-
ting and writing other stories — and fre-
quently, indeed, while working out new
stories — he found himself idly planning
what he would do with the five thousand
dollars.

Before the Apricott contest closed, or
rather, before the prize was awarded
and 'The Muleteer' was returned to its
author, he had four other stories ready
for the literary market. These stories,
ranging in length from one thousand to
five thousand words, were carefully
typewritten by the one stenographer of
the village — at so much per page — and
duly mailed to as many publishers.

But the returns were not gratifying.
The printed slips enclosed with the re-
turned manuscripts were not such as one
could use in lifting a mortgage or buy-
ing a farm. Indeed, they indicated a
heartlessness on the part of editors and
publishers that was positively inhuman.
Drafts or private checks would have
been far more satisfying!

Substantially they were all alike :

Dear Sir : — We herewith return the
manuscript you so kindly submitted for
our examination. We regret that it is
unavailable for our purpose. Yours truly,

Publishers.

"I will sell them," vehemently declared
the author, after repeated futile attempts
to place them with publishers of high-
class magazines.

And he did. A three-thousand-wcrd
story was successfully placed with the
publishers of a country weekly in a
neighboring town, and published as a se-
rial. It ran six weeks and increased
the paid-up subscription list nearly one
hundred. The author received a gen-
erous local write-up of nearly a column,
and a year's subscription to the paper.
Two other stories were sold to other
near-by papers on the same terms and
conditions.

His latest effort, entitled "Grandma's
Spectacles." lay snugly ensconced in his
desk, unoffered to the publishers of mag-
azines or local papers. Clearly, John

PERCY T. CARNES.

63

Wight Temple, author, was discour-
aged. Publishers of high-class maga-
zines did not properly appreciate litera-
ry genius, and publishers of local papers
were not financially able to compensate
properly for such productions as he had
to offer.

He had about determined to abandon
literary work and accept a sewing-ma-
chine agency when the Jonesboro letter
came. It ran as follows:

"Jonesboro, June 23, 18 — .

Dear Sir:— A few of the
leading citizens of this city
have organized themselves
into a Lyceum Board. Our
object is to afford the people
of Jonesboro and vicinity a
literary treat every summer.
The course will be made as
comprehensive as means will
allow. Only talent of high
order will be billed.

Your stories, published in
local papers, have been wide-
ly read and favorably re-
ceived. While it is not known
that you are an orator, it is
assumed by the Lyceum that
you are.

As Secretary of the board,
I have been instructed to ask
you if you will deliver the
opening address in the course
for sixty per cent of the re-
ceipts on the sale of tickets?
No season tickets will be is-
sued this year. This is an
experiment with us, and we
do not want to assume any
great financial risk.

You will, of course, select
your own subject; but we
beg the privilege of asking that you
orate not longer than two hours and
work in as much humor as you can.

Can you accept the appointment? If
so, at your earliest convenience, kindly
send me your subject, indicate the char-
acter of your lecture and send any press
clippings you may have that would be
useful in advertising your lecture.

We wish to annonce you for Tuesday,
-August 1 2th. Yours very truly,

Byron C. Evans, $ec'ty."

He was conscious of, an
ever increasing pride."

Mrs. Temple found her recalcitrant
husband seated on a box in the wood-
shed, gloomily cogitating on the per-
verseness of female human nature, and
its readiness to throw cold water on
man's lofty plans.

"John, dear," she began in a con-
ciliatory tone ; "I am sorry I spoke
as I did. Won't you please forgive
me ?"

After a moment's painful silence:
"John, may I see the letter?"

He slowly drew the letter
from his pocket and handed
it to her, without looking up
or uttering a word.

She seated herself beside
him, placed one arm about
his shoulders and read the
letter.

"John, I am sure you can
do it. You have several
weeks in which to prepare
your lecture. If you suc-
ceed, as I know you will,
your future is assured. You
will soon have engagements
all over the country through
some regular Lyceum or
Chautauqua bureau !"

Thus it came about that
John Wight Temple was an-
nounced to deliver the initial
lecture in the Jonesboro In-
dependent Lyceum course.

He very carefully wrote his
introduction, then painstak-
ingly revised it. It was then
laid away in his desk for ten
days. Again it was brought
out and revised. At last, the
lecturer was satisfied with
it.

The next thing in order was to mem-
orize it. Owing to its numerous re-
visions, this required some time.

Then came practice. The orator
would stand before a large mirror which
had been removed from the front hall
to an upstairs room, made a bow to his
imaginary audience, smile serenely and
begin :

"Mr. President, honorable and hon-
ored colleagues, ladies and gentlemen: I
feel greatly honored," et cetera.

64

A SUCCESSFUL FAILURE.

He was conscious of an ever increas-
ing pride of exultation at each private
rehearsal. Finally, Mrs. Temple was
invited to the "hall of oratory'' and
asked to hear and criticise.

"John, the prelude is positively grand.
You will gain attention and admiration
from the very first. I have nothing to
do for the next two hours ; suppose you
go right on and let me hear the address
proper and the peroration."

"Well, fact is, Lou, I haven't really
thought much about the address prop-
er!"

"John, my dear fellow, isn't it high
time you were thinking about it? You
have only three weeks now ; and they
will expect you to talk at least an hour
and a half."

"Lou, I couldn't possible write out
and memorize a long address in three
weeks. If I get this introduction off
just right, I will be all right. The ice
will be broken and I will have smooth
sailing. I shall speak from notes."

Two or three days later, Prof. Temple
received a large package of printed
matter from Jonesboro. The package
contained placards and hand bills — with
his picture and others — announcing the
entertainments. It also contained sev-
eral late copies of the "Jonesboro Her-
ald,"— "a weekly newspaper, devoted to
the interests of the reading public. All
home print. Price, one dollar per year
in advance."

The first page was given to the in-
terests of the Jonesboro Independent Ly-
ceum. Prof. Temple hastened home
and thrust a copy of the paper before his
wife's eyes. "Read, Lou !" he ex-
claimed breathlessly.

She read :
"PROF. JOHN WIGHT TEMPLE.

"Prof. John Wight Temple, the fa-
mous author-humorist, will give his
many admirers in this city an evening
at the Jonesboro Academy, Tuesday, Au-
gust 12. Admission 25c and 15c. Tick-
ets now on sale at the drug store. Buy
vour ticket and secure your seat now,
before thev are all taken.

"Prof. Temple is the author of several
stories which have been published in
this paper and neighboring exchanges.

This will be his first appearance on the
lyceum platform in America, and his
hundreds of admirers will be glad 10
take advantage of this opportunity to
make the personal acquaintance of the
man himself. Subject: "The Comic
and Serious Sides of Grandmothers." To
all who can laugh through their tears,
we say, come."

"O, John, isn't it grand?"

"Read on," said the orator, proudly.

Mrs. Temple read: "Following are a
few press comments :

"John Wight Temple's stories are
full of clever satire, rich humor, philos-
ophy and good, sound common sense."
— Mountain Advertiser.

"His vagrant pen probes deep into
the seething caldron of life, bringing
forth now and again gems of thought
that scintillate with rare humor and
brilliancy." — Crossville American.

(O, John!")

"Readers of Mr. Temple's stories
know that they wreathe the face in heart-
felt smiles, and now and then prod to
ebullient laughter." — Cookeville Times.

"John, deai, you are famous!" and a
pair of plump arms were thrown 'round
the author-humorist's neck, and a pair
of rosy lips met his in a delicious kiss.

"Prospectively, yes. But a year's
subscription to two or three weekly pa-
pers doesn't lift mortgages or pay gro-
cery bills.

"No ; but dear, your future prospect is
bright with promise."

Tuesday, August 12, dawned bright
and balmy. Prof, and Mrs. Temple
had everything in readiness for an early
start to Jonesboro. The distance from
Clear Fork was only sixteen miles, and
for reasons purely personal to the orator
of the evening, they did not care to ar-
rive in Jonesboro before late afternoon.
But they had decided to drive leisurely
to Mill Creek, and there rest and lunch.
It was such a quiet retreat.

That evening at 8 o'clock, Prof. Dod-
son, principal of Jonesboro Academy,
and president of Jonesboro Independent
Lyceum Board, in a few well-chosen
words, introduced the lecturer.

The applause was prolonged and deaf-
ening. Indeed, it was embarrassing to

PERCY T. CARNES.

65

the lecturer. He fumbled with his watch
chain, turned crimson, then pale, and se-
cretly longed for a lodge in some vast
wilderness, "far from the madding
throng."

But retreat was impossible. His
wife's reassuring smile brought his to a
sudden realization of his mission in
Jonesboro. He advanced to the front
of the stage, looked down into the smil-
ing eyes of his wife, who occupied a
front seat, and began :

"Mr. President, honorable and hon-
ored colleagues, ladies and gentlemen: I
feel greatly honored at being chosen to
deliver the initial lecture," et cetera.

While it was delivered in a rapid
monotone, the prologue was favorably
received, as manifested by the hearty ap-
plause.

"I will first introduce the maternal
grandmother, because she — she — the ma-
ternal grandmother's comic and serious
side—"

Here the speaker thrust his hands in-
to his trousers' pockets, looked appeal-
ingly at his wife, darted to the water
pitcher, gulped down a glass of cold
water and resumed :

"The maternal and comic side of the
serious grandmother — "

(Hissing and laughter.)

"I mean the grandmother's side of
the maternal serious comic — "

"You mean this is a serious grand-
mother's comic opera, don't you?" called
a voice from the rear.

"I will first introduce a maternal
grandmother — "

"Serious or comic?" from the aud-
ience.

Just at this critical moment, when the
orator's prediction that the audience
would mob him was in danger of being
fulfilled, Mrs. Temple, realizing the ne-
cessity of immediate action, came to the
rescue. She hastily drew forth from
her hand-bag a pair of large, brass-
rimmed spectacles and a red bandanna,
deftly adjusted the spectacles on her
pudgy nose and the bandanna around
her head and arose.

"I will first introduce a comic and ma-
ternal grandmother — "

By this time, Mrs, Temple was at her

husband's side. "Sit down, John," she
commanded in a stage whisper.

John, bewildered, sat down.

Mrs. Temple advanced to the front of
the stage, leisurely unrolled a manu-
script and in a decidedly nasal drawl,
said:

"Yes, I am a maternal grandmother,
both comic and serious. With your per-
mission and without the author's con-
sent, I will read you a story entitled
'Grandmother's Spectacles.' This story,
written by the famous author-humorist,
John Wight Temple, has never been
offered to any publication ; but it is for
sale to the highest bidder."

The storm of applause which greeted
this announcement was more hilarious
and prolonged, if possible, than the first
demonstration.

Mrs. Temple smiled, adjusted her
glasses and began. She read in a clear,
musical tone of voice. The deliberation
with which she read and the clearness of
her articulation proved highly gratify-
ing to the audience.

The story, as read and illustrated by
the hastily made-up "maternal grand-
mother," moved the audience to tears
and mirthfulness in quick succession.
Besides containing many amusing inci-
dents in a grandmother's life, the story
taught a moral that we trust led many
young people to be more considerate of
their dear old grandmothers.

The story ended and Mrs. Temple de-
scended to her seat. Profound silence
.reigned for a full minute, succeeded by
an encore, hearty and prolonged.

Slowly removing the glasses and ker-
chief from her head, Mrs. Temple de-
liberately ascended the steps to the stage.

"I cheerfully respond to your encore
this once," she said, as she faced the
sea of up-turned faces; "after which, so
far as I know, you may disperse."

In a rich contralto voice, a v*ice at
once full of love and sympathy, she sang
"Grandmother's Dream of Paradise."
At its conclusion, the audience, moved to
tears, quietly dispersed.

Prof. John Wight Temple, dazed by
the sudden and successful termination
his wife had given the evening's enter-
tainment, and abased by his own com-

66

NOVEMBER.

plete failure, sat, with downcast eyes and
throbbing temple, unable to move.

Now that the entertainment was end-
ed, Mrs. Temple, womanlike, retired to
an obscure corner and sat weeping.

"It is all right, Prof, Temple," the
treasurer said, simply and kindly, as he
poured ninety-eight dollars and sixty
cents into the lecturer's hat. "This is
sixty per cent of the receipts. We are
well pleased with the entertainment and
hope to have the pleasure of reading or
hearing read many more of your sto-
ries."

"John, it is getting late ; let us be go-
ing." Mrs. Temple had dried her eyes
and stood by her husband's chair.

"Excuse me."

Both looked up and saw standing be-
fore them an elderly man, whose pater-
nal smile was sympathetic and reassur-
ing. He was becomingly attired in a
light tweed suit, and might have been
mistaken for a country doctor.

"I wish to thank you both for the
pleasant entertainment of the evening."

"Just a moment, please," said the
stranger, hastily, perceiving that he was
considered insincere. "I assure you
that T am sincere in my expression of ap-
preciation.

"Prof. Temple, will you permit me,
a stranger, to speak plainly to you?"

"Certainly ; but I know without being
told that I am a failure !"

"As a lecturer, yes. You haven't the
gift of oratory. But as a writer, sir,
you may succeed."

"No ; I have failed in that line also."

"Perhaps you have been unsuccessful
in your attempts to place manuscripts ;
but that does not necessarily imply that
you can't produce readable stories. You
can.

"Do not give up your profession as a
teacher. It is a high calling, honorable
and remunerative. But devote leisure
hours to writing. It will be helpful to
you as a teacher. Do not allow failures
to place manuscripts to discourage you.
Many well-known writers have their ef-
fusions "turned down" as "unavailable."
Pray accept this gratuitous advice in a
spirit of kindness.

"And now, I desire to bid for your ex-
cellent story, 'Grandmother's Specta-
cles.' I will gladly allow you our reg-
ular rates for it."

"Who are you ?" asked the author, in
a suspicious tone.

"Pardon me for my neglect to intro-
duce myself," said the stranger, apolo-
getically, as he drew from his case a
card and handed it to the author. "I
am spending my vacation with relatives "

The author looked at the card in
amazement. It read :

James Boyd Graham,

Literary Editor,

Apricott's Family Magazine,

NOVEMBER

By MARY R. ELLIS

The chilling wind a mournful requiem blows,
Fit music for the sunless, bleak November days ;

No life is seen save only drifting, aimless crows
That drop and perch upon the dead, bare limb,

And view the landscape round with solemn gaze,
Then with a harsh, discordant note, are on the
wing,

While in the north the long, dark line of purple
haze

Betokens coming snow.

A MOVING TALE OF THANKSGIVING

AN EXCITING PROGRAM FOR A HOLIDAY

By ONE CONCERNED

Y COUSIN, Jane Andrews,
was just beginning to
meet with success as a
writer, and I, Elizabeth
Jordan, was making some
progress as an artist,
when we conceived the brilliant idea
of taking shares in a business en-
terprise in a distant city. It was
to yield an income that would enable
us to drop all anxiety for things material
and give full scope to the genius that
burned within us. The end of the first
year found our gentlemanly financial
agent independently rich and off to the
continent for his health, while Jane wrote
early and late, more for money than for
love, and I produced with pencil and
brush anything whatever that was not
indecent and would help pay the rent.
For we were not of the stuff to turn
our backs on the scene of our defeat.
We rented a comfortable old-fashioned
house, furnished it simply, and without
more ado proceeded to live within our
depleted means.

Among the few rare. souls who knew
of our difficulties and were ready to
reach us a hand, if we showed the slight-
est symptom of losing our grip, we
ranked Cornelia Sewall first. The day
before Thanksgiving, when we had been
settled a month, she called on us and, as
is her wont, plunged at once into her sub-
ject.

"You're going to take my mother to
room and board. You've twice the room
you need."

Jane and I did not look happy as we
knew we ought.

"You think I'm crazy to have Mother
break up house-keeping, but she'll store
her goods and we can go back next sum-
mer if we like. She shan't stay alone
and when this old school ma'am sets her
foot down even mother minds."

Cornelia had calmly walked into our
front room and was indicating what
pieces of our own furniture might re-
main and where she would put her couch.

"For, of course," she said, "I will be
home Fridays and holidays."

Before Cornelia we were dumb. She
named a sum we dared not refuse with
her keen gray eyes fixed upon us. It was
her way of helping us out of a tight place
and we knew it. The bargain was made.
She staid half an hour and quite dis-
pelled the gloom that hovered over us
when she first suggested the plan. En-
thusiasm is catching.

"You're sure you don't object to hav-
ing her move in Thanksgiving Day?"
By this time we would have objected to
nothing Cornelia proposed.

"She won't mind being alone? We
are invited out, you know."

"That's all right, so are we."

When the door closed behind Cornelia
Jane exclaimed :

"Isn't she an old darling?"

Whereupon I seized Jane and waltzed
her around the room. We were a grace-
ful pair, she with much length of limb
and a nose that has been called Roman,
I with a girth of waist too great for my
height and a tendency to grow more and
more into the likeness of my own pug
nose.

"Stop and be sensible a minute,"
laughed Jane, and pinioning me against
the wall with her long arms, she instruct-
ed me in the way I should go when we
were no longer free and independent
old maids, but had a share in Cornelia's
mother.

"My dear Madam," said I, "have no
fear. I will be a daughter to her. I
will walk softly all my days."

"You may walk softly into the parlor
and carry your easel up stairs. I will
gather up my scattered thoughts at once."

68

A MOVING TALE OP THANKSGIVING.

She pointed to a litter of manuscripts on
the parlor table.

In the afternoon we were standing at
the door of the front room, looking rue-
fully at the cleanliness and the emptiness
and utter lack of any soul, when the bell
rang and Cornelia came in greatly agitat-
ed.

"Girls, I'm called out of town on import-
ant business. I can't get back until Sat-
urday night. Think of that for a Thanks-
giving holiday. I've left a woman pack-
ing for mother ; the carriage is engaged
to bring her over at nine to-morrow
morning. She insists upon having her
own bed. The expressman will bring
that and set it up. She won't need to
bring any other furniture. Your chairs
and tables are all right. I'm awfully dis-
appointed not to be here to settle and
arrange things.

"Don't you worry, Cornelia, we'll take
care of your mother."

"Well, good-by, my train leaves in
twenty minutes."

Thanksgiving morning was bleak and
cold, a fine snow filled the air. We did
not have to leave the house until twelve
so we took our time to the usual work
and made some appetizing dishes in case
Cornelia's mother chose to stay indoors
such a stormy Thanksgiving Day.

Promptly at nine, somehow people al-
ways did things promptly for Cornelia, a
carriage stopped at our place and we
opened the door to welcome Mrs.
Sewall.

"Here I am and a happy Thanksgiving
to you," she chirped.

"Welcome home," Jane said and we
both kissed her and felt a daughterly af-
fection springing up for the spry little
white haired lady we were unwrapping
from enough shawls and capes and furs
for an Arctic expedition. The driver
meantime had carried up the steps the
band boxes, an old-fashioned traveling
bag, six baskets, the largest holding a
bushel, and all packed far beyond their
normal capacities, a bundle or two tied up
in gay colored cloth, and half a dozen
house plants.

"You've done well to get your things
all over in the carriage," I said.

"These are just a few I picked up the
last minute," she answered, "my things
will be along soon."

She glanced out the window.

"Here they come."

We opened the door and looked up
and down the street. Only a huge moving
van was in sight. I pulled Jane back
from the cold and was just closing the
door when to our amazement the van
backed up to our front steps and a gen-
tleman blandly asked :

"Where shall my men put these things,
Madam ?"

"Mrs. Sewall," cried Jane, "you can't
get all those things in one room."

"O, yes ;" she said cheerfully, "Cor-
nelia told me there was plenty of room
for as many things as I need."

Our hearts sank, but what could we
do? For one-half hour men tramped in
under heavy loads and tramped out only
to bring more. If a Salem Antique Shop
had unloaded at our door the result
would have been less surprising, for
added to bonnets at least a hundred years
old, and pictures of relatives long dead,
and frame mottoes worked in worsted,
and plaster casts of Mary and her little
lamb, there were three trunks, six goods
boxes, six or eight chairs and a kitchen
table.

It was evidently a case of "Parting
makes the heart grow fonder," and if
anything had been stored or discarded we
were at a loss to name it. When we
had seen a barrel of potatoes, a five gal-
lon can of kerosene oil, a box of coal,
and a whole garden outfit deposited in
our front room, we withdrew to the most
distant part of the house, our own bed-
room upstairs, and dismay was written on
our brows in big bold letters.

"We can't turn her away in the storm.
What have we done?

Jane's voice was almost a sob, and she
so masterful with that classic nose and a
way she had of taking everything calmly.
When Jane spoke like that matters were
bad — they must be bad indeed.

"Even if we could ask her to go she's
given up her house, I heard her say so,"
was my consoling remark.

"Elizabeth, Elizabeth," cried Jane, "I

MORNINC AND EVENING.

69

wish our financial problems had remained
unsolved, money can't pay for an invas-
ion like this. We waited, sitting very
uncomfortably on the extreme edge of
our bed, until we heard the heavy wagon
rumble off. Then we stood up and looked
at each other as if to say :

"Farewell, joy, this is the end of all
our earthly dreams,"

But humor is a saving grace. The
ludicrousness of the situation took hold
of us. Jane dropped into a low rocking
chair and laughed until the tears ran
down her cheeks. For my part, I rolled
on the bed and held my aching sides.

Then we dried our eyes and went down
stairs and pried Mrs. Sewall out of the
debris in the front room and made her
comfortable in our own cozy sitting
room.

"Don't you do another stroke of work
this Thanksgiving Day," we said and at
noon we left her to keep our engagement.
She had decided not to go out to dinner,
as Cornelia was away, so we left a charm-
ing little dinner all but ready for her.
The last words we heard her say, after
she thanked us, were :

"What was Cornelia thinking of to say
there was room for all I need."

" 'Man wants but little here below,' "
I chanted, "or woman either." We
laughed all the way to the station, we
laughed as we sat in the car, we laughed

when we reached our destination, and in
the very midst of our Thanksgiving
dinner, I caught Jane's eye and wc barely
saved ourselves from disgrace. We had
no idea how to get out of the scrape we
were in but that made it the funnier.

When we reached home at ten o'clock
that night the climax awaited us. Cor-
nelia's mother, with energy only equalled
by that of her own daughter, had risen
in rebellion, re-entered her little house,
summoned another moving van, and de-
parted with her belongings just as the
early twilight fell. She left a note ex-
plaining all and regretting the trouble
we had been subjected to.

Then for the first time we dared to
give full vent to our feelings. We went
into our vacated room and lighted the
gas, and Jane held on to the mantelpiece
while I hung over the back of the strong-
est chair and had a policeman been pass-
ing at that hour I know not where we
might have been landed.

"I'm thankful— Cornelia — don't have to
know all — until Saturday," I managed to
gasp.

"And I'm thankful that we two idiots
can just live by ourselves," said Jane.

"The poor little lady is thankful too,
I am sure, to be where she has 'room for
all she needs.' O, Jane, me own true
love, we won't soon forget the moving
events of this Thanksgiving Day."

MORNING AND EVENING

By CALLIE BONNEY MARBLE

The sun in the east said, " 'Tis morning —

Awake, O heart, and sing!
For, crowned with love and joy and light,

Another day I bring."

And the sun in the west said, " 'Tis evening —
Sleep now, O heart, and rest !

For the day brought care and strife and tears-
Night with its dreams is best."

Dv.Yaxtkys PMlosop/^L

q

9

you to-day will scorch

larger virtue who yields

relation between church

growing-.

be good but good for

The lie that screens
you to-morrow.
No one can yield the
to the smaller vices.
There is a radical
going and character
One must not only
something.

Corruption on the inside means eruption on the outside.

The deadly blow of hate is a deathblow to the hater.

Better push your work than be pushed by it.

To direct your activities toward good is to correct your proclivities toward evil.

A friend may find fault in you while an enemy finds fault with you.

It is better to fall below a high mark than to exactly hit a low mark.

The gospel is not a curiosity for sinners but a cure for sin.

An instinct for righteousness becomes an insight into the right.

Extremes meet when a boy has brains enough to fill his father's shoes.

Imitation of another is limitation of oneself.

When policy is put above principle the life grovels rather than grows.

Truth girds us with power while error gripes us with poison.

The true purpose of discussion is not to rout an opponent but to reach the truth.

Dissipation always spells disappointment and despair.

Delight in duty softens its severities.

When the energies are aimlessly diffused, the path of life is hopelessly confused.

Whether at home or in Rome, do not as Rome does, but as right requires.

The one who is given to nagging should be compelled to hasten through life

with the speed of a race-horse.

Moody feelings indicate many failings.

To stimulate another's talent is better than to strive with your own.

Whole-heartedness in worship makes a holy heart in the worshiper.

When we defy God and deify gold we are facing the only "Yellow Peril."

|

Off fbe main Road

"WE" DID IT

The old man had recently taken the
son into partnership and was somewhat
annoyed at the
youngster's rather
overbearing man-
ner in his new po-
sition.

"Look here,
young man," said
he one day, "let's
have a little less of
the T and a little
more of the 'we' in
this business. Remember, you're a.
junior partner."

A few days later his son appeared,
looking just a trifle anxious.

"I say, dad," he remarked, "we've been
an' done it now."

"Done what?" asked his parent.
"Well — er— we've been an' married the
typewriter.

QUITE SATISFIED

An old farmer couldn't really believe
that people who were miles apart were
able to converse
over a telephone
•wire.

One day his wife
went to a distant
friend who had a
telephone in her
house. During the
afternoon the farm-
er sought a shelter
from a thunder
storm in the house of a neighbor who

also possessed a telephone, and who per-
suaded the farmer to call up his wife as
a little surprise.

Following instructions, the farmer put
the receiver to his ear, and, after the
usual preliminaries, he shouted:

"Hullo, Jane !"

Just then a flash of lightning struck
the wire, and he fell to the floor, under
the force of the shock.

Rising to his feet, and shaking his
head wisely, he said :

"It's wonderful ; that was was Jane,
right enough."

WHY THEY GOT NO MAIL

An official of the postoffice department
at Washington tells of a new postoffice
that was establish-
ed in a small town
in the south.

The proprietor of
a grocery store was
installed as post-
master. It was not
very long before
complaints were
filed with the de-
partment that no
mail was being forwarded from the
new office, so an inspector was detailed
to investigate the matter.

When he called upon the postmaster and
asked why no mail had been sent out
the former pointed to a large mailbag
hanging up in a corner and said :

"The mail's in that bag ; I ain't sent it
out yet because the bag ain't nowheres
nigh full."

FABRICS AND COLORS IN FAVOR

ONDERFULLY appropri-
ate to the season are the
textures and designs of the
fabrics now piled upon
shop counters for Miladi's
discussion and approval,
and destined to build many a smart cos-
tume.

Autumn, the season of regal colorings,
seems to have been particularly taken
into account in preparing the sumptuous
colorings of the thick and lustrous fin-
ished cloths and velvets to be used for
either out-door or house wear. Mater-
ials for evening and semi-dress wear are
marshalled at no other period in the year
in such numbers. These include the
sheerest of muslins, both flowered and
white, as well as chiffons and China silks
and plain and fancy nets. Heavy bro-

Theatre Toilette.

One of the prettiest types of evening dresses
is here showin made of French gray coleen pop-
lin. The full skirt is finished with wide tucks
and velvet ribbon bands while the bodice
shows a high girdle effect gained by the
artistic use of chantilly lace dyed to match
the poplin. Long lace streamers held in
place by cabuchons of the gray velvet rib-
bon adorn the back of the gown and illus-
trate by their presence a very high style
note.

cades together with plain Lyon's, and
taffeta weaves of domestic manufacture,
are present in all their variations ; in
fact, no one fabric seems misseasoned.

This wide variety might at first thought
suggest difficulty in choosing, but on the
other hand it really simplifies matters,
for every texture and design seems to
have an individual destiny to fulfill. So
strongly are their uses indicated in this
respect that no clerks now-a-days con-
sider it smart or a good trade trick to
foist upon a customer material entirely
inappropriate to the use she intends for
it, just to make a sale. If Madam be
undecided, the clerk has been aided by an
up-to-date department buyer, whose eye
is constantly upon the fancy of the fash-
ionables and whose finger is ever pres-
ent upon the pulse of the demand for sea-
sonable fabrics.

Take, for instance, the mohairs of
spring and summer season. No fabric
has been more desired, especially now
that it is woven in such soft suppleness
and has come forth from its shroud of
plain colorings. Pretty, narrow stripes
and shepard checks in dark blues and
greens, and the loveliest of pastel shad-
ings tempted the Spring buyers.

Imagine a pale pink and a pale blue
mohair! How odd! said all the wise-
acres. The knowing ones "made no re-
ply," but showed some of the most allur-
ing weaves of these same colors in the
mohair and brilliantine textures of Eng-
lish weaving and designing with the re-
sult that farseeing dressmakers supplied
their best customers with gowns that
have been the envy of associates all sum-
mer. We are not observing a parallel
condition in mohairs and poplins for
autumn dress needs.

Everyone admires the attractiveness of
the rich colorings of the Scotch plaids
sent us every season from the bonny land
of porridge and bag-pipes. To be sure
these designs have often wandered far
from their original clan color ancestors,
but never to their detraction. These
wool fabrics are so heavy that their prac-
ticability has been rather limited to the

FABRICS AND COLORS IN FAVOR.

73

Smart Parisienne Model.

One of the smartest of fall frocks intended
for wear before the "wintry winds do blow"
Is made of London smoke shelma cloth. The
most noticeable style point about this frock
is the side pleated circular skirt, giving an
unusually good line to the figure. The bodice
shows a fine combination of cloth, velvet and
patin, all of one tone and lightened by a
white lace yoke. The sleeves are of satin,
but the girdle is of soft panne velvet, sepa-
rated from the satin topped bodice by
cleverly arranged bands of cloth, velvet
tipped where the two cut steel buttons ap-
pear to fasten them to the girdle.

medium of outdoor clothes, coats, heavy
skating costumes, walking togs, and the
like. We women have sighed over their
warm tones, reproduced for us in silks
only, missing in the transmission the
bloom of the yarn cloth that softens the
colorings of a plaided design just right,
but the sighs have been to good purpose
for the prettiest and most winsome of all
the early Fall materials are those self
same plaids in wonderful varying of
tones and designs, illustrating and mak-
ing doubly attractive the mohairs and
poplins that vie now with these wools for
supremacy as favorite materials for our
Fall trotteur costumes, tailored suits and
dark-toned separate waists.

The wool plaids are woven much light-
er in weight than formerly, and show
their handsome colorings to finer ad-
vantage by means of huge squares of

black satin lines, that seem to silhouette
the color of the designs over which they
are mounted.

For those who prefer plain colored ma-
terials they are the beautiful chiffon
broadcloths of exquisite bloom and of
various weights that seem to say, "what
better can you need for a gown, when I
present such a fine figure?" Their col-
orings are exquisite, the light evening
shades showing their values to best ad-
vantage. Indeed, a corn colored broad-
cloth of this chiffon weave is as hand-
some a gown as one could desire for
dressy needs, if combined with heavy
Arabian, Point Venise or Irish Crochet
laces, modelled after any one of the pop-
ular princess, empire or directoire models

For less formal wear, and particularly
adaptable for semi-dress or afternoon
frocks, come weaves splendidly firm yet
light in weight, such as shelma cloth,
voile and poplins, as well as serge and

I
I

' .v

The New Lace Coats.

Lace coats have passed thr
and fall of popular fancy, to
at a permanent place for the
ionable haunts. We've had al
of their styles, all of whi
but none more practical and
coat illustrated. Society h^
model, wearing it over colore
ing it upon gold or silver]
or using it as a dress accoij
smart white cloth gown.

74

FABRICS AND COLORS IN FAVOR.

cheviots all in plain, fancy or regular
colorings.

Beautiful combinations of velvet, satin
and cloth, are possible when using any of
the foregoing materials. Full tucked or
plaited skirts as fancy dictates, when
panne or chiffon velvet to match com-
bined with bits of satin, of the coloring,
are exceptionally modish for the bodice
modeling, adding the necessary high light
to a dull finish cloth that is considered
very high style and all without changing
the color harmony. Sleeves of satin or
velvet are seen upon some of these new
cloth frocks, these of elbow length only.

When one comes to the discussion of
the velvet frocks, one is considering the
highest type of fashionable outdoor frock
for winter. The variety of designs and
colorings of this royal material is wide,
while the weaves for this particular sea-
son have been brought to the very acme

Modified Empire Effect.

-oadcloth of lightest weight is
modeling of this dressy frock,
skirt is trimmed with inser-
paralleled by handsome em-
's, done in colors. The cream
iice tones beautifully with the
int of the broadcloth and has
ileeves richly emphasized by
itely embroidered velvet. A
hat trimmed with yellow
completes a smart toilette
theatre.

of perfection. Velvets require very lit-
tle foreign trimming beyond heavy che-
nille embroideries, usually done to tone
with the color of the frock, fur bands and
fine laces and braids and tassels.

The English velveteens rival the silk
velvets in beauty. They come in most
delightful fancy checks and plaids and
stripes as well as in all the rich new
shades. Paquin has used quantities of
these fancy velvets and velveteens for
his most beautiful models. For be it
known that the smart coutouriers prefer
the velveteens to silk velvet because of
its fine draping qualities and charming
high lights.

Evening frock materials are wonder-
fully pretty. All of the pompadour silks
are considered desirable, as well as those
with conventional designs upon them.
Satins are creating a furore of appreci-
ation as they are shown in all of the neu-
tral tones considered so smart this year
and have been catered to in the matter of
trimmings, such as the matching of their
colors with velvet ribbons, heavy dyed
thread and silk laces, and passementeries.
Chenille and silken fringes with tasseled
ornaments to match are also used for
these satin gowns, leaving the nets with
their old-fashioned darned lace to trim
the soft and lustrous sedo and orkeda
silks, both of which are new weaves and
considered as desirable for winter even-
ing things as the louisines were a season
ago.

Coleen poplin is another fabric devoted
to the needs of an evening gown and a
tall supple figure. The new shades of
grey and champagne are very beautiful
brought out in this soft semi-weight pop-
lin. A favorite model for its fashioning
will be the empire style showing long
streamers of sashlike folds of silk lace or
velvet depending from the center of the
high back waistline, with the edges of the
trailing skirt handsomely trimmed with
velvet ribbons or lace to match, or fluffed
with tulline flounces embroidered with
rosebud or other flower garlands.

Do not forget, however, that frocks
of these sheer and semi-sheer materials
must be cleverly handled to produce good
effects.

Low Cost Homes

Wm.A.I^adfoi^>)

Editoi^.

Ham

We are fortunate in having Mr. William A. Radford consent to answer all questions and give advice FREE OF
COST on all subjects pertaining to building plans and building material. On account of his wide experience as editor,
author and manufacturer, he is, without doubt, the highest authority on all these subjects. Address all inquiries
(• William A. Radford, No. 194 Fifth Ave., Chicago, 111., and only enclose two-cent stamp for reply.

FULL two story house
with a good attic and a
splendid cellar is shown
in this elevation and floor
plan. The house is twen-
ty-four feet wide by thir-
ty-six feet long exclusive of porches.
With an ordinary plain finish, where car-
penter work and building materials may
be bought at reasonable figures this house
should be built for about $2,000, exclus-
ive of furnace, gas fixtures and mantel.

The cellar has a good stone wall and
it is deep enough to give all the head
room necessary. The windows are large
enough to admit plenty of light and air.
Cellars seldom receive as much atten-
tion when building as they should. The
cellar wall is one of the most impor-
tant features of the house, and yet we
so often see walls thrown together with

badly shaped stone and very poor sandy
mortar. You can dig the mortar out
from between the stone of some walls
with a stick, and a green one at that.
After each heavy rain, water from the
saturated ground percolates through
such a wall and the cellar remains damp
during the greater part of the year.
When the wall extends above grade ma-
sons usually take a little more pains with
it, especially in pointing the outside, but
the stone work that is covered up very
often is poor enough. It is worth all
the extra cost of carrying the wall well
up above the ground just to get a bet-
ter quality of work and to secure a bet-
ter foundation for the house, but there
is a great deal more to a cellar than
this.

In order to keep the frost out of the
cellar in the winter it has been custom-

76

LOW COST HOMES.

ary to put nearly the whole cellar under-
ground, but a good, thick wall, well
made, will turn frost pretty well, espe-
cially when the sills are well embedded
in soft plaster in such a way as to make

an airtight joint between the stone work
and the upper structure. When a cel-
lar is used for storage for fruits or veg-
etables this is a very important part of
the job. A cellar that will keep such
things from spoiling must be cool in sum-
mer and comparatively warm in winter.
It must not be too damp and it must not
be too dry.

A cellar needs ventilation at all times',
but the ventilation should be regulated.
It is not necessary to let the air in
through numerous cracks and crevices
in a promiscuous manner, but the walls
should be right and the windows* made to
fit. Then opposite windows may be
left a little open according to the weather.
The footing for the posts in the cellar
of this house are twenty-four inches
square and ten inches deep, and all mor-
tar for stone work is required to be of
cement.

This ceUar bottom is made by level-
ing the earth and spreading a layer of
coarse sand three inches thick. Then
a course of hard burned brick is ham-
mered down and the joints are filled
with hard white sand. This is an old-
fashioned cellar floor, but it has proved

satisfactory for a hundred years. When
the cellar is used for the storage of fruits
and vegetables it is better than any other
cellar bottom.

A great many builders spoil a good
cellar to save the expense of a center
partition, so that when the furnace is
installed the whole cellar is made too
warm from the heat of the pipes. It is
necessary that a person should decide
when selecting a plan about the means
of heating. The cellar may be built in
parts just as cheaply as in any other way
if the arrangement is properly made in
the beginning, but it is hard to make
these changes after the house is Built.

There is but one chimney in this house,
but it is built with three flues, one for
the furnace, one for the kitchen range
and the other for the parlor grate. The
parlor grate flue runs down as well as
up. The lower part is made into an ash
pit closed tight with an iron door so
that the ashes drop to the bottom of the
flue and may be taken out once or twice
a year. This is an easy way of keeping
the grate in order that every house-keep-
er appreciates. Of course it must be
made right. There must be no draft
through it to scatter the ashes out over
the room, but it is just as easy to make
it right as it is to make it wrong. Too

many grates are closed up the year round
because they are dirty. The soot from
the chimney gets down into the room and
the draft from underneath scatters the
ashes about, but this sort of thing is
caused by mismanagement. A grate
properly constructed and rightly man-
aged is cleaner than a stove.

GOLDEN DREAM MARCH.

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A SMILE OR TWO FOR YOU

Charles — And do you really love me?
Agones — Love you ?
Well, I should say so.
Only yesterday papa
asked me if I wouldn't
rather have one of
those cute Japanese
spaniels, and I refused.

If you want a reputation to live up
to, marry a widow and hear about her
first husband.

Jones keeps awful
straight, doesn't he.

Yes. His wife rules him.

Mrs. Henpeck — I wonder why there
are no marriages in heaven?

Mr. Henpeck — Because it's heav

(but he didn't stop to finish).

Soloist — (indignantly) — Say! You
were talking all through me song.

Friend — That's all right. It wasn't
anything that would interest you.

Lucy — You certainly have a fine sense
of humor.

Bessie — How's that?

Lucy — I saw you smiling at yourself
in the mirror.

Tired Teddy — Say
Weary, are you in
favor of government
ownership ?

Weary Willie — Nit.
The only institutions
owned by the govern-
ment that's come in
my experience is jails,
and the way they're run don't suit me.

\8fil

w

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HP

Jffl

&

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What are you so gloomy about?

Oh ! I'm so horribly
in debt.

Why, you're in luck.
I can't get anybody to
trust me.

The Miss— Should a
girl permit her intend-
ed to kiss her before

they are married?

The Mrs.— Well, if
she had better.

she likes kisses

:

A WORD ABOUT THE ACME.

The Acme was launched in the full belief
that it would be well received, but we were
NOT prepared for the VERY HEARTY re-
ception accorded it by the public.

The demand for the November number was
greater than our facilities could supply. The
edition was exhausted the first day it was
placed on sale; the seeontl edition was sold
before the month was half gone — and the
orders actually received for the December
number insures a respectable circulation with-
out counting upon the sales by subscription
and newsboys. All this we greatly appreciate
and shall strive to earn your further patron-
age.

In the November number of the Acme, we
noticed all the defects that you saw — and per-
haps more, too. We have corrected a few of
these in the December number, as you may
have observed. We have made improve-

ments. For instance we have — we think you
will agree with us— produced a cover that
equals any of the great magazines of the
country. We will not talk of the other im-
provements until you have had opportunity
to look them over.

One thing taught us by the first number
was that it is impossible for us to produce and
sell a first-class magazine, like The Acme, for
a nickle. We know our readers must have
the best, so to lower the tone or cheapen the
paper and workmanship would not do.
Therefore we must increase the price to ten
cents a copy — one dollar a year by subscrip-
tion— commencing with the January number.
Yearly subscriptions at the present price,
fifty cents, will be received until January
first.

We are going to improve The Acme each
month and we'd like you to help us do it,
both by suggesting what it should contain
and by subscribing.

F*t

UNCLE REUBEN AND HIS FAMILY SEEING TRENTON.

Uncle Reuben, (in front of tfie State Capitol), "Gee! Sara Ann, look at
thet tine house." ( To Spader, who happetts along at that moment.) " Say ! yonng
feller, can yew tell me whose home thet be ? "

Spader, the Peanut Merchant, "Yessah! Tha's th' home o' Republi-
can Graft, sah ! "

Uncle Reuben, 'Yew don't say! Gosh a' mighty ! Sara Ann, Mr. Graft
must be rich."

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HUGH H. HAMILL

Is best known to Trentonians by reason of his large financial interests
and banking connections. But when business hours are over lie enjoys
the Companionship of a handsome collection of hooks. One of the most
genial of men. Mr. Ilnmill has a wide acquaintance throughout the conn
ty. particularly among the I,n« renceville School Alumni, for it was at
Old Law renceville. that his father was | rincipal for so many years.

sp><

The Q_Acme cJMagazine

Vol. I.

December, 1906.

No. -2.

OLD MANSIONS OF TRENTON.

Photo by John H. Blackwood.

2 -WOODLAWN.

By Fkancis Bazi.ey Lee.

^$$«NHE.UP°N ;\tinu;' as a11

stones ot olden days are
supposed to commence;
what is now Warren, then
King street, lost itself in the
marsh land that skirted the
Assanpink creek, then the houndary be-
tween the old counties of Hunterdon and
Burlington. Standing on the Queen
(Broad) street bridge, the traveler on
his way from Philadelphia to New
York, could discern amid the trees that
grew on the hillside between himself
and the river, a most stately mansion.
approached by a winding drive. This
was "Bloomsbury Court," which for
many years after Chief Justice William
Trent purchased the tract has been
known as "Bloomsbury the Beautiful."

(ireat changes have come since the

death of Trent which occured in 1724.
A town of possibly two hundred inhab-
itants has become a great city of ninety
thousand people, even "Bloomsbury
Court" has been altered to "Wood-
lawn." But with all the mutations,
there is so much of the spirit of the
past in this, the beautiful and hospit-
able home of Edward Ansley Stokes,
that when one leaves the street, one
passes directly into an "atmosphere"
that is purely colonial.

There is first the garden, with old
box hushes and a famous ash tree plant-
ed in 1735. Tinder its branches drove
the coaches of the gentry when they
came to "Woodlawn" by the Borden-
town road and over the lane that led
down what is now Market street. The
corner of the present Union street and

Photo by Blaclcwood.

The Ancient Hall at Woodlawn.

Market street was the gate keeper's
lodge.

Entrance to the house is gained
through a wide colonial doorway which
according to Mr. Stokes was built in
1720 and is a part of the original build-
ing.

To the left of the doorways are the
parlors, with their great chimneys, oc-
cupying almost a quarter of the entire
apartment. To the right is a broad
oaken staircase leading to the second
story and the sleeping apartments.
The brilliant paintings on the wall are
highly attractive, six of them having
once graced the Bordentown mansion
of Joseph Bonaparte, having been
brought over from Spain, after Joseph
had been driven from the Spanish
throne. The hand painted paper on the
walls is still intact having been import-
ed from Alsace-Loraine over fifty years
ago.

Of those who have lived in the house
there were William Trent's son Captain
William Trent; Robert Lettis Hooper,
and in the year 1776 the mansion was
occupied by Dr. William Bryant, an
avowed Tory.

To the Hessians "Bloomsbury Farm"
was known as "the Doctor's House."
On the night preceding the battle of
Trenton, a small Hessian guard was
quartered at the house, while upon the
Pennsylvania shore frowned American
batteries.

On the day of the second battle Col-
onel Hitchcock and a Continental bri-
gade of Cadwalader's division were
posted on the farm between the Assan-
pink bridge and the river and threw
up temporary earth works, beating back
an advancing party of Hessians.

It was in the early 1800 's that
"Bloomsbury Court" was in its glory.
The mansion had come into the posses-
sion of Colonel John Cox, owner of
Batsto iron works, who, during the
Revolution was an Assistant Quarter-
Master General. His wife was Esther
Bowes, daughter of Sir Francis Bowes,
their daughters, all noted for wit and
beauty, being the Misses Catharine,
Rachael, Sarah, Mary, Esther and Eliza-
beth.

There were rare entertainments in
those days. Washington, Rochambeau
and Lafayette had graced the mansion
with their presence, while among the
guests of note had been Jean de Ferson
the Swede, who disguised as a coach-
man drove Louis XVI and Marie Anto-
nette away from Paris when their
throne tottered and fell.

In 1835 Daniel W. Cox, disposed of
his family's interest in "Woodlawn"
to Philemon Dickenson and Sydney, his
wife. In the autumn of 1838, James M.
Redman purchased "Woodlawn," Mr.
Redman building the wooden addition
to the house. It was in 1839 that James
M. Redman conveyed the property to
John C. Redman who reconveyed to the
grantor in 1844. James C. Redman
in 1852 sold "Woodlawn" to the late
Mayor Joseph Wood, of Trenton.
Mayor Wood after nine short months
of ownership, selling the house to Jere-
miah Stull. The executors of Mr.
Stull resold "Woodlawn" to Mayor
Wood in February, 1859, and from his
executors, in August, 1861, the famous
home was purchased by Edward H.
Stokes, father of Edward Ansley
Stokes, the present owner who is also
a grandson of Mayor Wood. Mr.
Stokes has made many valuable im-
provements upon the property since he
came into possession, but the original
portion of the mansion has not been
changed. The house, aside from its
historical worth, is considered one of
the most valuable properties in the city.

THE POLITICAL GUNNING SEASON IS OPEN.

Abe Swan — "Just wouldn't I like to gobble that gobbler.

THANK YOU, FRIENDS.

It's too bad that we haven't the space
to reprint all the nice things our friends of
the daily newspapers have said about The
Acme.

The Evening Times did us the honor to
make a news item of the fact that the first
edition was exhausted the first day it was
placed on sale. The Times also reviewed The
Acme and spoke favorably of it's future.
The Sunday Advertiser congratulated us on
our first number and reproduced our cartoons

and caricatures. The True American, after
reviewing The Acme, expressed it's surprise
at the production of so good a magazine in
Trenton and advised it's readers to subscribe.
The State Gazette classed The Acme with the
foremost magazines of the land.

Such a reception by newspaper men so
thoroughly trained as those conducting the
Trenton newspapers is highly compliment™ rv
and very encouraging.

A MAN OF ACTION.

Since ex-Senator E. C. Hutchinson has had charge of the State roads, he
has had many busy hours.

Fortunately, as one of the local captains of industry, he has surrounded
himself with capable lieutenants, and is therefore quite free to devote himself to
his duties as a State Road Commissioner.

Throughout the year, amid snows of winter, or in the heat of summer, the
ex-Senator may be seen in all parts of New Jersey, rushing from point to point
in his big red automobile, which has the same effect upon delinquent road com-
mittees of Boards of Chosen Freeholders, as had the royal ensign flying from the
main mast of a British man-of-war upon the buccaneers of the Spanish Main.

The Road Commissionei has but one object iu view — that is to compel sub-
ordinate officials to obey the law. He blames when necessary — and praises when
he is justified— and there are a great many people in New Jersey who do not
hesitate to commend to the utmost, the honest pride that the ex-Senator takes
in giving to New Jersey the reputation of having one of the best systems of
public roads in the Federal Union.

MARIE LANNING.

One of Trenton's fair
daughters who has won a
reputation on the profession-
al stage. Miss Lanning has
sung leading roles in such
famous operas as "The Lit-
tle Tycoon," "Princess
Bonnie" and "Rosalie."
She has also heen connected
with Richard Stahl, and
the Oshorn Opera Com-
pany, and was one of the
cast in the famous all star
company composed of Lil-
lian Russell, Jefferson De
Angelus and Delia Fox.

At the performance given
by the Rosalie Opera Com-
pany in Philadelphia, last
winter, for the benefit of the
San Francisco sufferers,
Miss Lanning Avas one of the
octette of flower girls, who
were instrumental in raising
such a large sum of money
from the sale of flowers.

Miss Lanning is now re-
hersing for a new opera, to
be produced soon under
New York management.

Winter and Wild Weather.

"Winter!" and it's snowing;

The outward air is chill.
But it's Summer and it's sunshine

Within our warm hearts still.

Brown leaves drenched and frozen,
Storm-beaten, strew the ground;

Love's warm blooms are fresh and fra-
grant
The changing seasons round.

"Winter and wild weather" —
Let weaklings blench who will ;

While there's Summer just beyond it
Let Winter work its will.

C. S. T.

Trenton, N. J., December, 1906.

A Trio of Trenton Doctors after a Political Specimen.

Which one will get it?

The Barber Asphalt Company and the "Bogie Man

tf

Some Trentonians and their Coats of Arms.

Evidences of aristocratic descent in the old families
of the capital city.

{Continued from November number.)

VAN DUVN

C ONO VER

MON TGOMERY

PENNINGTON

OLI PH ANT

T

SCHENCK

HE Van Duyn's
are of Dutch-
French origin.
T he Hugue-
not De Dines
emigrated to
Holland and following
the example of so mauy
of their persecuted com-
patriots, emigrated to Long Island. No
less prominent in this same Long Island
emigration were the Schencks, descen-
dants of the famous General Peter
Schenck Von Nydeck of the ancient
family of Toutenberg.

Intimately connected with the history
of New York, Long Island and East
Jersey is the name of Conover. a mod-
ernized form of Couwenhoven. The
ancestor Wolfert Oeritsen came from
the vicinity of Utrecht, Holland, and
from him are descended over one hun-
dred Trentonians.

Ih the representation of the Mont-
gomery arms there appears a portion of
the arms of the Seton family. This
portion is not accepted by all the Mont-
gomerys and calls to mind the fact that
about 300 years ago Hugh, fifth Earl
of Eglington, last of the title, feeling
no affection for his natural heir, Sir
Neil Montgomerie, obtained a new

grant for his earldom making a kins-
man Sir Alexander Seton, heir to his
estates and titles A descendant of Sir
Neil, Hugh Montgomerie never agreed
to the spoliation and upon coming to
East Jersey in the latter part of the
seventeenth century, asserted his claim
to the title which was long after recog-
nized by the King-at Arms of Scotland.
The Montgomery estate, near Allen-
town. New Jersey, is known as Egling-
ton.

Another family conspicuous in Tren-
ton is that of Pennington, of Penning-
ton, county Lancaster, England. This
name is characteristic of the Congrega-
tional emigration that left New Haven,
Connecticut, founded Newark and
spread itself throughout the valleys of
the Passaic, Raritan and Upper Dela-
ware. The Lords Muncaster of Castle
Cumberland are of this stock.

The name of Oliphant of late years
has been closely associated with many
phases of the civ's growth. The fam-
ily traces its lines to Scotland through
an old West Jersey establishment from
which sprung the branch in southwest-
ern Pennsylvania, from which the Tren-
ton Oliphants are immediately descend-
ed.

(To be continued.)

Men who have helped to make Trenton
a modern city.

1. -EDMUND C. HILL.

Few men have done so much for Trenton as Edmund C. Hill,
whose stamp is on a large part of the geography of the city.
Cadwalader Park and the river drive owe their origin to him,
and he was one of the three men who got the sewer law passed
and the sewer system started. His recent suggestion for the im-
provement of the banks of the Assanpink Creek into a park-
way has met with general approval and detail plans for the
project will soon be presented to Common Council. As Presi-
dent of the Board of Trade he was instrumental in settling the
great pottery strike of 1893. Mr. Hill has held but one polit-
ical office, member of Common Council from the first ward.
His majority was larger than the total vote for his opponent,
700 of the 1000 votes cast being for him.

PRINCE MURAT AND THE WHITE HORSE TAVERN.

BY E. P. WILLIAMS.

•Ji SHORT DISTANCE beyond
MS the city limits of Trenton,
35 on the old Bordentown turn-
pike, stands the ancient hos-
telry known as the White
Horse Tavern. It is a fam-
iliar land mark to Trentonians and in
recent years has been a popular resort
for bicyclists and automobilists.

But how many of those who stop at
the old road house know that it was
once the resort
of a member of
the imperial

house of Bona-
parte ? That a
nephew of the
great Napoleon
once frequented
this old tavern
almost every
day? Such how-
ever is an histor-
ical fact. Prince
Napoleon Fran-
cois L u c i a n
Charles Murat
spent much of
his time at the

tttt -j tt The White

White Horse

Tavern while a resident of Bordentown,

during the exile of the Bonapartes.

His father, Joachim Murat, Napol-
eon's dashing cavalry leader, born a
farmer's son, was educated for the
priesthood, but enter-ed the army and
became the friend of Napoleon, whose
youngest sister he married and sub-
sequently became King of Naples.

Prince Lucian inherited much of the
dash and recklessness of his father and
when he accompanied his uncle, Joseph
Bonapart, King of Spain, in his exile
to this country, he was regarded as one
of the wildest of wild blades. He first
settled in the village of Columbus, but
soon thereafter moved to a farm near
the estate of Bonaparte and subsequent-
ly took up his residence in Bordentown.
The house he occupied is still standing
on Park Street and until recently pre-
sented practically the same appearance

it did when occupied by its distinguish-
ed tenent.

The prince was extremely popular
with the inhabitants of the village,
though he appears to have generally
preferred the society and rougher man-
ners of the bar room to the cultivated
deportment of the drawing-room.
Much of his time was spent at the
White Horse Tavern and in boating
and gunning. He would play ten pins
for drinks with
any one who
chanced along
and was always
ready for a game
of cards no mat-
ter with whom.
He would bor-
row a shilling
from a negro or
toss a half-eagle
to the boy who
held his horse,
with equal in-
difference.

One night
he and a par-
ty of compan-
ions were playing billiards in the
American House, Bordentown, when a
violent storm arose. They continued
the game until long in the night and
then wondered how they should get
home without a drenching. At last
Murat took off his clothes, tied them in
a bundle and started on a dead run
down the street. The others followed
his example and the night being dark
they reached their several homes with-
out detection. But the story leaked
out and was soon heard in every house.
To this day the old people who boast
of their former acquaintance with the
Prince Lueian, love to tell the tale.

Of all the village belles not one was
more beautiful, accomplished or viva-
cious than Caroline, the daughter of
Thomas Fraser, a Scotch officer in the
British army, who having served in
America during the Revolution, mar-

Horse Tavern.

ried a young' Virginia maid and settled
at Bordentown. One day a close car-
riage dashed down the road, past the
White Horse Tavern, to Trenton. Its
occupants were the Prince Murat and

Prince Liiciiin Murat,

Caroline Georgina Fraser. When the
carriage returned some time later the
number of its occupants had been re-
duced by an exchange of vows and the
blessing of the church.

But the blessing of the Prince's uncle
did not follow. The ex-king had not
only opposed the match but declared
that whoever married his nephew
would have to support him, and so it
proved. The young man soon disposed
of his wife's scanty fortune and of her
sister's.

But Madam Murat proved equal to
the emergency and their quiet home
on Park Street was turned into a board-
ing school for young ladies.

From all parts of the country came
the maidens to learn music and manners
of the beautiful wife of Prince Murat.
The sisters, Jane and Eliza Frazer, as-
sisted in the class room and the prince
presided at the dinner table, treating
the fair students with grace and easy
courtesy. His bearing then, as indeed,
whenever he chose that it should so ap-
pear, was that of a polished gentleman.

In 1839 and again in 184-1 Louis
Phillippe allowed Murat to visit France
and after the revolution of 1818 he re-
moved thither with his family.
Friends in the village made up a purse
to pay their traveling expenses and the
two little boys were dressed in gar-
ments made from a coachman's livery
with the brass buttons still attached.

After the coup d'etat Murat was ap-
pointed a senator and made a prince
of the empire by his cousin Napoleon
III|. When the French republic was
restored he crossed to England where
he died in April 1878. Madam Murat
died in the same year, surviving the
prince but a few months.

Their first four children, born in Bor-
dentown, were Caroline, afterwards
Baroness de Chassiron ; Anna, Duchess
de Mouchy ; Achille, who married the
Princess Dadiani de Mingreli and
Joachim Napoleon, who died a lew
months ago at his chateau in Chambly,
France.

A SONG FROM THE SEA.

Francis Bazley Lee.
(At Cape Henry, Virginia, stands an abandoned lighthouse. Carved upon one of its window
frames is this inscription : "On this 30th day of July in our Lord's year 1800 came I unto my happi-
ness."—L. P. B.)

Yet out of the waste of ancient time.
Comes the sound of a glad refrain.
"Lo Love shall last, 'till the earth and
sky
And the waves be rent in twain!"

Sing soft of the sea and its shifting
sand.
Fair days of the long ago,
The lighthouse tower, and the carven
oak
And the tide, in its ebb and flow.

The gleam has gone, and the window
frame
Moulds black in the salty breath.
And the woman and man who are both
forgot
Have gazed on the face of Death.

Such love was theirs in the vanished
years.

May God in his mercy bless
Two souls by the great Eternal Sea,

Who have kept their happiness!

A CUMULATIVE CHRISTMAS

By F. G. MARTIN

CALDWELL, I am
hungry !"

The exclamation seemed
to slip from the prim lips
of the dignified little old
lady sitting by the cheer-
ful evening fire, like an effervescent
spurt from a long-sealed and tightly-
corked bottle, and from the gasp that
followed she was none the less startled
than was her complacent companion sit-
ting opposite.

Mr. .Caldwell, the lavish-provider, the
hearty-eater, the self-satisfied, looked up
from his paper with both astonishment
and annoyance in his face, and glanced
involuntarily towards the pantry. But
the outpouring once begun, there was
to be no sudden stoppage, and the gurg-
ling overflow went on :

"Oh, it is not the dinner ! I have had
plenty to eat ; it is not that kind of
hunger. I am hungry for Christmas,
for an old-time Christmas like we used
to have when the children were little !
I am hungry for some children !"

This was a pretty long speech for Mrs.
Caldwell and almost took her breath
away, while the vehemence of it left
Mr. Caldwell quite breathless indeed.
Then the oil began to pour out on the
troubled waters.

"I am not forgetting, .Mr. Caldwell,
that you always give me a handsome
present every year and spend more

money on your family than any other
man in the country — "

At this juncture a slight relaxation
passed over the rigid countenance of the
breathless one.

"But you know, Mr. Caldwell, that we
will have no real Christmas this year.
Laura and her children are abroad, and
Jimmie, you know, wants to spend the
holidays with his schoolmate in New Or-
leans, and Christmas will be no different
from any other day, and if you would
only let me take the two hundred dollars
that you always spend on me at Christ-
mas, and let me have some children
here—"

"Let you indeed ! Have all the
children you want," he snorted . but
a twinge of curiosity made him add "but
where in the name of common sense are
you going to get them?''

With such an easy victory Mrs. Cald-
well was not to be ruffled by a few ran-
dom explosives and, with a comfortable
settling in her chair, the placid voice
went on :

"Now, you know how often sister Liz-
zie and brother Henry have said they
wished they could spend a Christmas
in the city and they'd be only too glad
to go and leave the children with us for
one Christmas, and they could take what
they'd spend on the children and the din-
ner and things and it wouldn't cost them

,M

A CUMULATIVE CHRISTMAS.

any extra — so there are three girls and
a hoy to begin with."

Mrs. Caldwell had already planned it
all over many times in her mind so she
did not need to pause now to study.

"And there's cousin Dave's two moth-
erless boys, they won't have any too much
Christmas, I reckon — and your sister
Sallie's boy off at a boardin' school and
no home to go to — he'd just love to come.
And you know that little orphan boy
John Hayden's taken to raise — well.
John'll be wanting to go to the city and'll
be glad enough to have somebody to
leave the boy with."

"Well, is it to be all boys ?" interrupted
Mr. Caldwell. "You know I'm not spec-
ially fond of boys, and girls would be
much quieter and less liable to break up
the furniture and muddy up the carpets.
You remember Dave broke the rocker
on grandpa's rocking chair when he was
a bov and Dave's bovs are just like
him."'

"Oh," interposed Mrs. Caldwell, anx-
ious to turn the tide from the favorite
reef on which all projected entertain-
ments stranded, "you remember how you
used to like Lida James — -Lida Moore
that was?"

Yes, Mr. Caldwell remembered "Lida
Moore that was — " a little more and she
would have been Lida Caldwell.

"Well, Lida's a widow now, you know,
and she's living in the city, clerking in
at Swerdfiger's,and her two little girls are
just as much like Lida used to be as any-
thing— they've got her dimples, and her
same easy, quiet ways — and she does
work so hard now, and it would be so
nice to have them all out here to spend
Christmas."

Mr. Caldwell made no comment and
Mrs. Caldwell went on :

"And then there's Ann Spencer's niece
and nephew — Ann don't believe in
Christmas, you know, and never has any
for them, but I guess she'll let us give
them one. So that'll make an even
dozen — six bovs and six girls — and
Lida."

"Well, where on earth, I'd like to
know, are you going to put all these
thirteen people — thirteen people! Good-

ness gracious, Mrs. Caldwell, you surely
would not invite thirteen guests?"

"Oh, we can make it fourteen, we can
make it twenty," enthusiastically ex-
claimed Mrs. Caldwell.

"Make it twenty indeed," snarled Mr.
Caldwell, "that's not saying we can pro-
vide for that many."

"But, indeed, we could, and we can
ask Mr. Wadsworth over at The Wil-
lows— he lives all by himself and would
enjoy seeing the children."

"Oh, enjoy seeing the children would
he? Maybe he would enjoy seeing Mrs.
Caldwell ; but do you think I am going
to have an old lover of yours nosing
around here at Christmas time?"

"He happened to be the first one I
thought of and I only suggested him, Mr.
Caldwell, to make up the fourteen."

"Yes, he is first in your thoughts right
often, I dare say."

But for twenty years Mrs. Caldwell
had considered jealousy one of the prime
virtues in a husband and the placidity
of her purposeful spirit was not to be
disturbed. And with a happy turn she
said :

"You have always wanted to have your
lawyer out here ; maybe his folks are
away or maybe he hasn't got any folks.
You might ask him."

This seemed to touch just the right
spring, for the deep urbanity on the
countenance of Mr. Caldwell was the re-
flection of an inward satisfaction at the
thought of playing the host to the dis-
tinguished Mr. Curtis at a time when
such lavish hospitality would be in evi-
dence. But again the thought of the dis-
posal of the guests disturbed his tran-
quility and he irritably exclaimed :

"But you can't do it, you know you
can't ; you've no place to put them."

This, too, had long ago been figured
out and the answer was forthcoming.

"Now, wait a minute; there's the 'big
room' up in the attic with the three dou-
ble beds that'll hold the boys easy, and
there's nothing up there for them to
hurt, either ; and Lida and her two girls
can have the sitting room there — you
know we always do sit here in the din-
ing room ; and that big lounge in there

F. G. MARTIN.

19

opens out into the best double bed you
ever slept on, and the youngest girl can
sleep on the sofa and I can put a look-
ing glass on that writing desk and turn
it into a dresser. Then Lizzie's three
girls and Ruby Spencer can have Laura's
old room and two of them can sleep in the
trundle bed that's under the big one. And
of course Mr. Curtis can have Jimmie's
room and I'll get out all his fine cushions
and spread and things that the girls have
given him and fix it up just fine."

Some features of this proposed affair
bringing an agreeable train of thought,
Mr. Caldwell at once became absorbed
and forget to urge
further objections,
and when no objec-
tions were forth-
coming it was a well
settled fact that
Mrs. Caldwell had
won the day. There
was little sleep for
her that night ; her
mind was in as gay
and happy a whirl
as when, at eighteen,
she had lain awake
planning a party. It
was only three
weeks till Christmas
and each turn of her
mind brought new
possibilities into
view till she was
fairly bewildered
with the complexity
of the scheme she

was evolving. But before morning she had
a pretty definite plan mapped out, and
her first move was to make some seem-
ingly purposeless calls. But, while she dis-
cussed the new school teacher with Ann
Spencer and the weather with cousin
Dave, and while sister Lizzie poured into
her ears a tale of domestic woe, the ex-
perienced and observant eye of Mrs.
Caldwell was taking the dimensions of
the children in the various households
and when, a few days later, she went
into the city, she had her memoranda
all carefully itemized with measurements
and quantities.

There Were Dolls for the Girls,

Going first to the store where Mrs.
James was employed she took only
enough of the saleswoman's time to ask
her to lunch with her at noon in the
big restaurant on the fourth floor, adding
that she had a great secret to tell her.
At 12 o'clock, when Mrs. James reached
the table agreed upon, the waitress was
already arranging a tempting array of
dishes and Mrs. Caldwell began apolo-
getically ; "Lida, I knew so well what you
used to like I didn't wait for you to or-
der, as we have so little time and I'm
going to do the talking and you the
eating, and I can take all afternoon to
finish my lunch, if
necessary."

Then she began to
unfold her plan of
celebrating the hol-
idays and of how
Lida was to come
out and they were
to fill the stockings
together and of how
many things she
wras going to buv
now that she was in
St. Louis, and how
she wished Lida
could get off to shop
with her, and what
an exquisitely hap-
py time they were
all going to have.

"And do • you
know," she conclud-
ed, "even Mr. Cald-
well is all excited
over itjOnly he won't let on !"

Mrs. Caldwell had expected to do all
her purchasing in one afternoon but she
soon saw she must make another day of
it and then she would have the even-
ing to talk it all over again with Lida,
and that was the best part of it all, for
Lida was a sympathetic and an enthusi-
astic listener.

Mrs. Caldwell had bought forty-eight
pairs of stockings of various sizes —
four pairs apiece for them would be
enough, she said — several dozen hand-
kerchiefs, with ribbons for the girls and
ties for the boys. With great care she

20

A CUMULATIVE CHRISTMAS.

had selected six beautiful undressed dolls
and purchased bright colored materials
to array them in, then six work-boxes
all filled with thimbles, scissors and
thread were added, and to offset this
lavish expenditure for the girls, she in-
vested in balls, knives and skates for the
boys. Then came the candies, nuts and
fruit and, counting up, she found she
had only spent seventy-two dollars —
and the stores were closing.

The evening was spent in Lida's small,
meagerly furnished rooms and, after the
children were put to bed, the two women
passed delightful hours inspecting the
purchases and talking over their plans.
Mrs. Caldwell gathered some useful sug-
gestions from her city friend as to the
prevailing styles and remembered them
to good advantage the next day when
she selected the material for a dress
and a ready-made cloak for each little
girl and a suit and overcoat for each
boy. Then, passing a bargain counter
where remnants of bright ribbons were
going for a song, she purchased enough
to trim six hats, having already seen
some children's felt flats at another sale.
to which she hurried back and made
selections. Going to the waiting room
now and getting out her pencil, she fig-
ured that, having spent four dollars
apiece for the boys' suits and five dol-
lars each for their overcoats, with fifteen
dollars for the materials for the girls'
dresses and five dollars each for their
cloaks, she had spent ninety-nine dollars
the ribbons and hats bringing the day's
expenditures up to one hundred and five
dollars ; so with the seventy-two dollars
spent the day before she had just twenty-
three dollars left for incidentals. When
she got back home two dollars of this
were laid aside for "Uncle" John Broady,
who was to get the Christmas tree, and
three dollars for Sarah Talbott, who was
to trim the six hats, and two dollars and a
half for Mollie Jones, who had already
been engaged to embroider an initial in
a couple of dozen handkerchiefs, and
fifteen dollars for the widow Porter, who
was glad of the opportunity to make
the dresses ; then, having apportioned out
the work and paid for it in advance so

that her helpers might have their Christ-
mas money, Mrs. Caldwell began, with
the aid of Jane, the cook, to set her
house in order, and to prepare for the
lavish baking and roasting that were to
come.

Four days before Christmas found the
cakes, the pies, the yeast bread, all stored
in the pantry, the fat turkeys were scarce
able to waddle in the coop and the cran-
berry jelly was all aquiver with excite-
ment. Barrels of apples and sweet po-
tatoes were near to bursting in the cel-
lar, and the smell of mince and drying
sage pervaded the realms of the kitchen.
Jam pots and pickle jars had been opened
and their contents inspected, and all was
now in readiness for the guests.

With anxious eyes Mrs. Caldwell
scanned the skies from which she hoped
abundant contribution to her Christmas
entertainment, but on Monday morning
all was clear and bright and Christmas
came on Thursday ; she was beginning
to fear that part of her program would
have to be given up. But just before
sundown that day great gray boulders of
clouds rolled up from the northwest and
lay like bales of cotton stacked above the
horizon and before the dawn the wind
had torn the gray wrappings off and the
white cloud-cotton filled the air.

Holly wreaths gleamed from the win-
dows now and mistletoe hung from the
chandeliers. The huge pine Christmas
tree was safely sheltered in the barn, and
its glittering trappings and tinsel orna-
ments, with the gaily colored candles,
were all waiting.

Wednesday morning the snow was still
falling and a jingling sleigh was heard
coming merrily down the road.

"Here's Lizzie and Henry and the
children," shouted Mr. Caldwell at the
front door, "and Lizzie won't get out;
they're on their way to the station ;" and
four woolly bundles, with bright turbaned
heads, rolled out in the snow and bound-
ed up the steps, while the sleigh slid
noiselessly off and the children stood in
die door and waved their mittened
hands.

"Oh, Aunt Sarah, we must take off
our rubbers and coats before we come

F. G. MARTIN.

21

in," said careful Mary, "and mamma
says I'm to help you receive — won't that
be just lovely?"

"And when are the others coming?"
inquired the ten-year old Robert.

"Why, the sleigh is to wait for the IO
o'clock train from St. Louis and John
will bring back Mrs. James and her two
little girls."

"Aw, I ain't talkin' about girls ; when
will the boys be here?" he demanded.

"Oh, soon enough," replied Mr. Cald-
well, in a gruff but kindly voice. "I'm
going now to your cousin Dave's for his
two youngsters and John Hayden
has promised to bring his urch-
in over on the horse and — Sa-
rah, how are the little Spencers
to get here?"

"Why, I thought you were
going to bring them," replied
Mrs. Caldwell.

"I can't carry them all in the
buggy," he said.

"Well, take the two-seated
then—"

"Oh, oh. Uncle James, take
your sleigh, it's got three seats,
and let me go along," interrupt-
ed Robert.

"Maybe that wouldn't be a
bad idea," said Mr. Caldwell,
beginning to imbibe the Christ-
mas spirit and secretly longing
for a lark. So the two roan
mares were hitched
to the sleigh and
soon Robert and his
uncle were gliding
away over the
smooth roads. When
they reached Mrs.
Spencer's Ruby and
Howard were ready

and, after their satchels were stored
under the front seat and Robert had
given up his place beside his uncle
to Ruby, who was a favorite of Mr. Cald-
well's, they drove gaily on, the children
chatting and keeping time to the cease-
less accompaniment of the sleigh-bells.

A mile or so more brought them to
David Saunders' place where two ex-
pectant faces had been pressed against

Mr. Curtis Makes a Resolve.

the pane for an hour or more, eagerly
watching for the conveyance which was
to take them to Aunt Sarah's. The two
boys and their bulky baggage were soon
piled in, cousin Dave was invited over to
eat Christmas dinner, and the merry
party started for home. The four boys
were bubbling over with plots and plans
and each began at once to unfold his
scheme of enjoyment.

"I've got a sled under the seat there,"
whispered little Dave.

"And we're going to make a snow
man," exclaimed Robert, "and the pond
behind the barn is
all frozen over and
if we only h a d
skates — "

"Oh, there comes
another sleigh,"
shouted Ruby, who
kept looking back
to see what the
boys were doing ;
"and there's two
little girls and a
lady and a boy in it.
"Yes, they are
some more of our
party," said M r .
Caldwell, "and we'll
all get there togeth-
er."

Greetings were
shouted back and
soon the big white
house was in view,
the front door open-
ed and Aunt Sarah,
in a gray silk, and
Mary, in a bright
red dress ; stood
ready to wel-
come them ; two
bright spots were seen fluttering excited-
ly at a window before the arriving party
could make out the beaming faces of
Margy and Nell, and what a tramping of
feet and mingling of laughter, and greet-
ings and excited exclamations, as they all
stamped up on the porch ; Mrs. Caldwell
gave each one a kiss and bade them a
hearty^ welcome. Arthur Craig, Mr.
Caldwell's nephew, had come on the same

22

A CUMULATIVE CHRISTMAS.

train with Mrs. James and it was he
Ruby had seen in the sleigh. Mr. Hay-
den, on a big black horse, soon rode up
and left Sammy Burns.

Then, after a few tousled heads were
brushed, they found a steaming dinner
waiting for them in the big dining room.
Waffles and fried chicken and custard
were not things any of them had every
day, and if tljere was such a jolly good
dinner to-day, they thought, what would
it be like to-morrow — and they congratu-
lated themselves that the festivities had
begun so early.

In the afternoon the boys went to
make their snow man and the girls were
given a bag of popcorn and a popper
apiece and left to amuse themselves at
the big old-fashioned fireplace in the
kitchen while Mrs. Caldwell and Mrs.
James went upstairs to the room where
the presents were stored and kept under
lock and key.

"Now, Lida, we'll just sort them
and see how to portion them out,
for it won't be a bit of fun to fill the
stockings now," said Mrs. Caldwell;
"but," she added, "there's such an awful
lot to do that we'll have to get those
children to bed early."

The things were all laid out in piles,
hooks and strings were found, a few
colored tarletan bags not yet done were
finished and then the two women went
down where the children had all congre-
gated and were having a noisy, happy
ti.me munching popcorn and cracking
nuts on the broad hearth. It was
scarcely dark when they were given
a supper of bread and milk and were
put to bed and then the preparations
began in earnest. "Uncle" John dragged
in the big Christmas tree and helped to
make it firm to the platform prepared for
it in the dining room, the dining table
was reduced to its lowest terms, and then
the women began to drape the festoons
of tinsel fringe and place the gilt stars
and globes, and the candles were hooked
on the boughs at regular intervals. The
balls, skates, dolls and work-boxes were
tied on and then began the stocking fill-
ing. In the toe of each stocking was
put a big orange, then followed nuts and

a bag of candy. The handkerchiefs,
wrapped in bright tissue, came next and
then a big red apple and the girls' rib-
bons and the boys' ties in fancy boxes,
came next, and lastly, a small box of
candy with a holly sprig on top. The
stockings were then all hung on the tree.

And just as they were finishing, with
tired arms and flushed faces, the sound
of wheels was heard and Mrs. Caldwell
left Lida to arrange the dresses, cloaks,
suits, on two clothes trees brought
in for the purpose, while she went to
the door. On account of a dinner en-
gagement Mr. Curtis had to come out
on a late train and Mr. Caldwell had
driven over to meet him. The two men
were cold and red-faced from the chill
air.

"Just come right in to the fire ; we're
so glad you could come, Mr. Curtis,"
cordially exclaimed Mrs. Caldwell, as
she shook his hand.

"Oh, I haven't had anything like this
for twenty-five years — and you know I
was brought up on a farm, and it was so
good of you to ask me," enthusiastically
replied Mr. Curtis.

"I just told Mr. Caldwell maybe your
folks was away and you'd like a quiet
time for a change — ■"

"Quiet time indeed," interrupted Mr.
Caldwell, "you just wait till you hear
those youngsters in the morning."

"Well, it will certainly be delightful,"
said Mr. Curtis, "and, Mrs. Caldwell, I
haven't any folks — no little folks of my
own and my sister's family are away,
and I should have been quite lonely in-
deed."

Leading the way to the dining room,
Mrs. Caldwell threw the door open and
stood to note the effect on the men.
The glittering, gaily bedecked tree, with
its burden of presents, was in full view
and the great fireplace, with its blazing
logs, threw out a mellow light that
touched everything with an enchanted
glow, and sweet-faced, happy, blue-eyed
Lida, gazing dreamily into the fire,
seemed to Mr. Curtis part of the Christ-
mas picture and it all went straight to
his heart.

While Mr. Caldwell presented Mr.

F. G. -MARTIN.

23

Curtis, Mrs. Caldwell hastened to make a
pot of tea and soon the four sat down to
a dainty supper which had heen waiting
for them. Then, leaving instructions
with Jane to have the tires made before
five, they hurried off to their rooms to
snatch some sleep before the excitement
of the morning.

So soundly wrapt in dreams was the
household that no one stirred as "L'ncle"
John, noiseless from long practice,
slipped into the rooms and stirred the
coals and heaped on fresh wood, and
then, standing on the hearth in Mr. and
Mrs. Caldwell's room, he exclaimed:

"Hi, Marse Jeems, Christmas gif !"

And then the whole house awoke at
once and there was a jumping into dress-
ing gowns and slippers, while the child-
ren had to wrestle unaided with shoes
and numerous buttons. But the four
grown people had barely time to run
down, light the candles and hide them-
selves in the big glass-doored pantry,
till there was a wild confusion of sounds
and a scampering of feet on the stairs
and a rush for the dining room door ;
but, so beautiful was the tree with its
twinkling lights and glistening trim-
mings that they were all breathless for
a moment and the little girls' hands were
clasped in ecstasy and the boys expressed
their satisfaction by thrusting their hands
deep into their trousers pockets ; and they
stood silent, gazing in rapt admiration,
till little Dave broke the spell with:

"Gee, ain't it bully!"

There was a laugh from the closet,
then the hiding place was discovered and
Mrs. Caldwell had to come out and dis-
tribute the stockings and other presents,
and the clothing. The girls at once ran
into the hall, where there was a mirror,
to try on their hats and cloaks, and the
boys shouted with delight at each new
pocket they found in their coats.

There were a dress and big box of
candy and fruits for Jane and a similar
box for "Uncle" John, with warm gloves
and socks and comforter.

But the greatest surprise of all was
to come. Mr. Caldwell had kept his
secret well. It was he who had gone for
the mails, and notwithstanding Mrs.
Caldwell's anxiety at not hearing from

Laura and Jimmie, he had secreted their
letters and presents in the barn, together
with his own contributions — a set of furs
for his wife, a gold-headed cane for Air.
Curtis and a beautiful umbrella for Lida.
"And I bought 'em all the day Sarah was
in town," he chuckled, "'and if she hadn't
had her eyes glued to a bargain counter
she would have caught me looking at
those furs."

And everybody was happy and the
boys could scarcely wait till breakfast
was over to try their skates.

Then came the preparations for the
dinner, and such a dinner it was! Mr.
Caldwell at one end of the table carving
a big turkey and Mr. Curtis at the other
end trying to dissect as scientifically an-
other bird of the same size, while Mrs.
Caldwell and Lida piled the children's
plates with good things. Dinner was
half over when Mr. Caldwell laid down
his fork and exclaimed:

"Bless my soul, Dave promised to come
over to-day and I'd forgotten all about
it."

"Well, why didn't you tell me and I
would have waited dinner," said Mrs.
Caldwell.

"Oh, I suppose he's got to reading and
forgot about it," replied Mr. Caldwell.

But Mrs. James, glancing out the
window, said :

"There's some one driving in now."

"It's Dave," said Mr. Caldwell, "and
he's got Ann Spencer with him and I'll
bet forty dollars they're married.

And, forgetting in his excitement that
he was host, he jumped up from the
table and ran to the door to meet them.

"Oh, no ! Oh, no !" he cried, "you're
the people that don't believe in celebrat-
ing Christmas? You needn't tell me,"
he blustered as Mr. Saunders tried to in-
troduce his bride, "I know it already ;
come right in, we're waiting dinner on
you ;" and before they could take off their
wraps Mrs. Caldwell had spread a small
table and Lida had sprinkled it with holly
and mistletoe while the other guests
waited in excited expectancy for the
bride and groom to enter. Then the
dinner went merrily on and it was the
cheer and the chatter and the homeful
spirit of it all, together with the happy

24

A CUMULATIVE CHRISTMAS.

light on the face of the groom, that
caused Mr. Curtis to make a Christmas
resolve and a New Year's plan. At the
taffy-pulling next day he was as delight-
ed as any of the children and on the
sleighing party on Saturday he managed
to sit beside Mrs. James and hold little
Alice, and when the time came for the
house party to break up they were all
sure there had never been so happy a
time before.

But not until long afterwards did Mrs.
Caldwell realize how many institutions
had been founded by her Christmas en-
tertainment. It was acknowledged by
cousin Dave that if he hadn't been left in
solitude on Christmas day he never would
have gotten up courage to propose to
Ann Spencer ; and the tastefully trimmed
hats taught Sarah Talbott her aptitude
for the work, and soon the village boast-
ed a millinery store ; and when Arthur
Craig- took his embroidered handker-

chief back to school he set the style and
every other boy wanted one, so Mollie
Jones was kept busy with her needle.

But the greatest good of all, thought
the little Jameses, had come to them.
After that one first gala week in their
lives Christmas never really seemed to
end. Mamma kept getting the most de-
licious boxes of candy from somewhere
and floyvers — Oh, such flowers as they
had never seen before except in the flor-
ists' windows ; and one Sunday there
was a drive in the park and then more
drives, and very soon mamma told them
they were all to go and live in a beautiful
house and she would not have to work
any more. And thus Mr. Curtis' Christ-
mas resolve was carried out.

And the Christmas gathering at the
Caldwell house became an annual affair
and from that institution there dated so
much happiness that Mrs. Caldwell's
heart was never hungry again!

THE MOVEMENT FOR WORLD PEACE

By JOHN L. COWAN

T is an unwelcome thought
that the National Con-
gress now spends more
time discussing ways and
means of preparation for
war than it spends in the
consideration of any of the great social
and industrial questions that so urgently
confront the American people. With
expenditures for the army and navy and
for coast defenses increasing annually,
it is hard for us to feel that we as a na-
tion are contributing cur share towards
the realization of the world's ideal of
universal peace. Nevertheless, the peace
idea is permeating all classes of the peo-
ple to-day to a greater extent than ever
before. The Spanish-American war, the
Boer war, the Philippine insurrection,
Younghusband's bloody expedition to
Lhassa, and the great conflict that has
ro recently closed in the Orient have all
contributed to this result, bringing the
civilized world to a realization of the
wastefulness, destructiveness and utter
uselessness of war. Never before in
modern times were human beings so
wantonly slaughtered as at Port Arthur,
Shako, Liao Yang and Mukden. No
wonder that humanity sickens at contem-
plating the spectacle, and that men ask
themselves if it is indeed necessary that
such things should be.

Every impetus towards the era of uni-
versal peace has come as a direct conse-
quence of war. May we not, therefore,
hope that the wars of the past decade
may prove but another link in the endless
chain of hardship, deprivation and suf-
fering that is slowly lifting the human
race upward ? The peace movement had
its beginning as a reaction from the cost
and carnage of the Napoleonic wars.
The New York Peace Society— the first
in the world — was organized in August,
1815, just two months after the battle of
Waterloo. Four months later the Ohio
Peace Society, the second in the world,
was formed ; and a week or two later

the Massachusetts Peace Society, out
of which grew the present American
Peace Society, held its first session. The
first Peace Organization in Europe was
the English Peace Society, formed in
London, June 14, 1816, on the first an-
niversary of Waterloo. It will, therefore,
be seen that in the inauguration of the
peace movement America led the world
by almost a year's time.

Forty years of international peace fol-
lowed the battle of Waterloo, and
throughout this period the peace idea
grew with a rapidity that caused many to
hope that the last great war between na-
tions had been fought. Beginning in
T848 annual peace congresses were held,
largely owing to the influence of an
American — Elihu Burritt, the "learned
blacksmith." He was the most ener-
getic and conspicuous worker in the se-
ries of international congresses held suc-
cessively at Brussels, Paris, Frankfort
and London. This series was interrupt-
ed by the Crimean war in 1852 ; the
American Civil war, 1861-1865 ; the war
between Austria and Prussia, 1866; and
the Franco-Prussian war in 1870; but
the congresses have now been held every
year for the past fifteen years. Burritt's
efforts were along clean-cut and definite
lines. While most of the delegates be-
wailed the horrors of war, and lamented
its burdens and its cost, he proposed the
remedy. His plan was constructive and
practical — the settlement of disputes be-
tween nations by means of a "permanent
international tribunal." These words
sound very familiar now, but Burritt so
far as known, was the first man in the
world to advance and put in practical
form the proposition for such a tribunal ;
and the delegates from this country sup-
ported him so loyally and so ably in the
advocacy of this idea that it became
known as the "American plan." It is,
therefore, plain that the idea of the
Hague Tribunal was not original with
the Czar of Russia. It was the plea of

26

THE MOVEMENT FOR WORLD PEACE.

the American peace delegates thirty
years before Nicholas II was born.
Few persons have any idea of the ex-

The late Edward Atkinson, Boston, Mass..

one of the best known peace

advocates.

tent to which the advocates of interna-
tional peace are organized. In Germany
there are seventy-five active peace so-
cieties, in Denmark seventy-three, in
Great Britain fourteen, and in France
more than two hundred organizations
are affiliated with the peace movement.
Norway and Sweden are thoroughly or-
ganized, and it is not claiming too much
to say that these organizations have done
much to keep the revolution that so re-
cently took place there from being stain-
ed with blood. Every country in Europe,
save Russia and Turkey, is represented
in the Interparliamentary Union ; and
has within its boundaries from one to
several score of active peace organiza-
tions. Even in turbulent South America
the peace propaganda has made head-
way, Chili, Bolivia, Uruguay, Argentina
and Brazil having active and influential
organizations.

On October 31, 1888, thirty members
of the French Chamber of Deputies and
ten members of the British Parliament
met in a small hotel in Paris and formed

an organization that they called the In-
terparliamentary Union. It was ridiculed
from one end of Europe to the other and
was held up to public derision as an or-
ganization of "dove fanciers." In less
than ten years this despised organization
included delegates from every country
in Europe that had a constitutional form
of government. Russia and Turkey are
not entitled to participate in its delibera-
tions, but the Czar sent an official repre-
sentative to the meeting at Buda Pesth
in 1896. His report to the Czar caused
that sovereign to issue his invitation in
1898, which resulted in the establishment
of The Hague Court of Arbitration. As
the name implies, the Interparliamentary
Union is composed entirelv of members
of legislative bodies of countries having
a constitutional form of government. At
its meeting in Vienna in 1903 more than
600 delegates were present, and almost as
many attended its sessions in St. Louis
in 1904. The ITnited States entered the
Union in 1003, and is now represented
by a delegation of more than one hun-

Dr. John A. Brashear of Allegheny, l'u., ,1
well known peace advocate.

dred members of the Senate and House
of Representatives. It is probably the

organiza-

most influential international

JOHN L. COWAN.

27

tion of any kind in the world. It is cred-
ited with having prevented the famous
"Fashoda incident" from developing into
a war between France and England ; with
bringing about the negotiation and rati-
fication of the arbitration treaty between
those two countries ; and with having
done more for the cause of arbitration
than any other single influence.

Next to the Interparliamentary Union
in influence and importance is the Inter-
national Peace Congress, composed of
representatives of the various indepen-
dent peace societies of all parts of the
world. The first congress was held in
London in 1843. In 1904, it met in
Boston, and last September its session
was held in the city of Lucerne, Switzer-
land.

However, as it was in America that
the peace movement began and that it re-
ceived its first great impetus towards
practical results, it is but natural that we
feel the greatest interest in strictly Amer-
ican organizations. There are now in
this country twenty-one active peace or-
ganizations, composed not of dreamers

ship lists the greatest names of the pul-
pit, the bar, in education, in statesman-
ship, in finance and in business ; the men

Rabbi J. Leonard Levy, President Pittsburg
peace society.

and fanatics, but of the leaders of
thought and action in their respective lo-
calities. Thev include in their member-

Prof. Samuel Black McCormick, Vice-Presi-
dent Pittsburg peace society.

who do the world's work, who have then-
hands on the throttle of the great indus-
trial machine, who pay the taxes that are
swallowed up in war or in unending pre-
parations for war.

The great friend and ally of these
peace organizations is the public press.
It is upon the newspapers and magazines,
and more particularly upon the religious
press, that reliance must be placed for
the upbuilding of an enlightened and
Christian public sentiment that will com-
pel politicians and statesmen to seek and
find a peaceful solution of all difficulties.
The demand is not for "Peace at any
price," but for "Peace with justice."
There never yet was a war in which one
side was not in the wrong — and might
never yet determined the right.

War is a survival of a stage in the evo-
lution of society that has long since been
passed. Just as we find in many animals
organs, or the rudiments of organs, that
are no longer useful, so do we find in so-
ciety customs and superstitions that no
longer have any excuse for their contin-
ued existence. War is one of these — as

28

THE MOVEMENT FOR WORLD PEACE.

unreasonable as the belief in ghosts or
witchcraft. Disputes between nations
could and ought to be settled in the same
way as disputes between individuals.
Our Courts of law are an outgrowth ot
organized society, to do away with bru-
tal contests between man and man. It
ought not to be difficult to carry the or-
ganization a little farther. An interna-
tional tribunal to settle contests between
nations would be no more than an exten-
sion of existing institutions.

To bring this to pass the peace advo-
cates seek to arouse the interest and en-

Henry Berkowits, D. D., of Philadelphia, a
prominent peace advocate.

list the sympathy of the people — the plain
people, whose sons are slaughtered, who
pay the taxes, who bear the brunt of
war and supply the wherewith for the
support of armies and navies and the
building of forts and arsenals. They seek
to spread the spirit of internationalism
— a realization of the fact that racial dis-
tinctions are more or less superficial, and
international boundary lines wholly arbi-
trary ; that men are all children of the
same Father : that humanity is all tend-
ing towards the same goal, and that com-

mon interests, common hopes and com-
mon ideals should inspire co-operation,
not conflict.

The question of peace or war is pre-
eminently a question for women. It is
they that have the most at stake. While
husbands, sons and fathers are off in the
wars, they must stay at home and work
and weep. It is they that feel the pinch
of want and poverty, and suffer long sea-
sons of doubt and uncertainty that are
worse even than the realization of their
fears. It is an industrial question — for
the expense of war, of the army and navy
and the tremendous military establish-

Samuel P. Butler, Secretary Cincinnati peace
society.

ments of the twentieth century falls upon
all classes, and adds to the cost of living
of every individual, whether he labors on
the farm, in the shop, down in the mine,
behind a counter, or in the pulpit. It
is a moral question, for the battlefield
never can decide the issue between right
and wrong. But more than all it is a
religious question, for every believer in
the Fatherhood of God and the brother-
hood of man, whatever his creed or dog-
mas, must feel in his heart that war is
fratricide.

FROM AN OLD SCRAP BOOK

By HUGO ERICHSEN

|T is curious how chance impelled me to attend an auction sale on
that memorable morning and wafted an English collection of poe-
try, that was made in the first third of the past century, into my
hands. Idly passing the house, I was attracted — perhaps drawn
in would be more pertinent — by the ancient red rag that stands
for ruin not only in the sense of anarchy. I seldom get away
from these sales without paying tribute, but remember occasions when articles of
vertu got away from me by an indecision that was deeply deplored long after.
Well do I remember the time when I might have bought an elegant moose-head
for $13.00 by a mere nod of the head, but didn't, or that other occasion on which
I might have acquired a set of polished Buffalo horns for $1.50 but abstained be-
cause I could not make up my mind whether I really wanted them or not. Thus
opportunities that never recur slip by and only regret remains.

But in the matter of the poetry I scored. It seemed almost like sacrilege to
acquire a collection of printed verse that reflected the sentiment of a man — or
was it a woman — who had long departed this life and was, mayhap forgotten.
A musty odor of a bygone age seemed to arise from the yellowed pages as I
slowly turned them one by one. Like the period, to which it pertained, the senti-
ment of the poetry was rather exaggerated, not to say melodramatic. A stirring
ballad, modestly signed by the author in initials (H. G. B.) conveys as true a
delineation of the days when knighthood was in flower as any portly volume
ever writ by man and is vastly more interesting. Entitled "The Scarf of Gold
and Blue," it rings true to the spirit of chivalry:

'"God speed thee, Eustace D'Argencourt — be brave as thou art true,
And wear the scarf I've woven for thee — this scarf of gold and blue !''
He bent his knee, he kissed her hand, and fervently he swore, —
That till his sword had lost its might, till life's last pulse was o'er
That scarf. should never leave his arm, in tournament or fight;
That scarf should be his scarf by day, his dream of joy by night.
Then bounded he upon his steed, and with one parting glance,
Forth rode Sir Eustace D'Argencourt — the bravest knight in France !

Scarce had he ridden one short week — one short week and a day —
When he saw twelve Spanish knights approach, all bent to cross his way;
And his squire said to his master bold, "I pray thee turn thy steed,
For little hope is left us now, save in our coursers speed.''
"How ! — think'st thou, crave-hearted squire," Sir D'Argencourt replied,
"That from the lance of mortal foe I e'er have turned aside !
Twelve Spaniards are there in the field and we are only two,
But wear I not my lady's scarf — her scarf of gold and blue !"

Then up rode Don Pedrillo, and tauntingly spake he, —

"I envy thee thy fortune, knight, whate'er thy name may be.

For if thou'rt slain by my right hand, a happy death thou'lt die."

Sir Eustace placed his lance in rest, but deigned him no reply ;

As thunder rides the lightning's wings, so rode he his good steed,

And soon beneath his charger's feet he saw Pedrillo bleed.

Then up came Garcia Perez — Don Carlos by his side —

"O ! dearly shalt thou rue Sir Knight, thy self-deceiving pride!"

30 FROM AN OLD SCRAP BOOK.

Sir Eustace stroked his gallant barb, and with a sudden bound
Hurled Garcia Perez from his seat, sore mangled on the ground !
Then turning to Don Carlos, like a lion in his wrath,
He stretched him with one desperate blow all stiff across the path.
Nine Spaniards still remained behind but motionless they stood
And looked with silent wonder on that young knight's hardihood !
"Come one — come all !" Sir Eustace cried, "I neither yield nor fly,
But for the Lady Isabel or you or I must die."

Then the Count Alcaras recognized Sir Eustace D'Argencourt,
His favored rival in the love of Isabel D'Etours ;
And on he urged his dastard friends, and as a cloud they came —
"Base traitors!" shouted D'Argencourt, how can you fight, for shame?
Such odds were never seen before — nine armed men 'gainst one !
God guard thee, Lady Isabel — my race of life is run !"
Yet fiercely did Sir Eustace fight, and fast flowed Spanish gore ;
Till the Count Alcaras came behind — he dared not come before —
And stabbed the brave knight in the back — a false, dishonest blow !
Sir Eustace turned him round, and fixed one long gaze on his foe,
Then feeble fell his gallant arm, and clouds swam round his head
And the Spaniards raised a joyful shout, for they thought Sir Eustace

dead,
They bound his arms behind his back, they tied him to a tree !
And beside him stuck his broken lance, in graceless mockery;
"And now, Sir Knight," Alcaras cried, "I'll wear this gew-gaw, too, —
Methinks I guess who wore this scarf — this scarf of gold and blue.
Away ! my friends, there's little breath in proud Sir D'Argencourt ;
Away ! my friends, I'll win her yet — fair Isabel D'Etours !"
Bright shines the sun upon the waves- — the waves of blue Garonne
But brighter shine those diamond eyes in the lists at Roussilon ;
And trumpets bray, and banners stream, and chargers gallop round,
And noble hearts beat quick for praise, with many an aching bound ! —
But who is she who wins all looks — for whom all ride the ring —
To gain a smile of whose dark eye were glory for a king?
Ha ! did you mark that sudden blush — that deadly paleness then —
See you the knight on whom is fixed so eagerly her ken?
"It is the Count Alcaras," for his Spanish crest she knew,
"But why wears he that plighted scarf — that scarf of gold and blue?"
"I took it lady," boastingly, the crafty Spaniard said,
"From one I forced to yield beneath my more victorious blade !
He gave it me with right good will, his life was all he sought,
Too cheaply with the coward's death so rich a prize I bought."
"Now, by St. Louis, braggart base !" fair Isabel replied,
"I tell thee in thy craven teeth, that loudly thou hast lied !"
Then bared she straight her snow-white hand, and down she threw her

glove,
"Oh ! is there any knight who here, for honor or for love,
Will make the Count Alcaras his unhallowed falsehood rue,
And win me back that well-known scarf — that scarf of gold and blue?"
A hundred swords leaped forth at once to do her proud behest,
A hundred lords were at her feet, a hundred spears at rest ;
But she has singled from them all that solitary knight,
Who wears his coal-black vizor down, nor yet has proved his right.
The heralds sound the onset and they meet with deadly shock ! —

"Gnd speed thee, Eustace D'Argenconrt.

32 FROM AN OLD SCRAP BOOK.

The Count has fallen from his horse, — the knight sits as a rock ! —

But when he saw Alcaras down, he staid not on his steed,

And when he saw Alcaras lance was shivered as a reed,

Away, without one word, the knight that instant cast his own ! —

And forth he drew his glittering sword, that as a sunbeam shone.

With one fierce blow he cleft the casque the Spaniard proudly wore

And with the next struck off the arm on which the scarf he bore !

Then thrice he kissed that well-worn scarf — that scarf of gold and blue

And raised his vizor as he knelt to her he found so true ;

O ! dearly was that scarf beloved by Sir Eustace D'Argencourt,

But dearer far the prize he won in Isabel D'Etours.

Even a superficial glance over the poems that crowd each other upon these
pages shows that the embahner of some of those poetic wraiths must have been
an admirer of the Titan that once moved the world. The following ode, from
the poetical album, to "Napoleon Moribundus" is an evidence of this:

Yes ! bury me deep in the infinite sea.

Let my heart have a limitless grave ;
For my spirit in life was as fierce and free

As the course of the tempest wave.

As far from the stretch of all earthly control.

Were the fathomless depths of my mind ;
And the ebbs and flows of my single soul

Were as tides to the rest of mankind.

Then my briny pall shall engirdle the world,

As in life did the voice of my fame,
And each mutinous billow that's sky-ward curled,

Shall seem to reach my name !

That name shall be storied in records sublime

In the uttermost corners of earth —
Now breathed as a curse, now a spell-word sublime,

In the glorified land of my birth.

My airy farm on some lofty mast.

In fire frought clouds shall appear,
And mix with the shriek of the hurricane blasts,

My voice to the fancy of fear.

Yes ! plunge my dark heart in the infinite sea.

It would burst from a narrower tomb.
Shall less than an ocean his sepulchre be,

Whose mandate to millions was doom ?

An extract from an earlv number of Blackwood's which is taken from the
volume and which is anonymous, may serve as an example of the love-poetry
that was current in England at the beginning of the nineteenth century. The
fact that the collection largely consists of verses pertaining to love does not nec-
essarily argue that its originator was a Don Juan, as it was fashionable at that

HUGO ERICHSEN. 33

Byronic period to profess st ^iments one did not really entertain. The poem ap-
propriately named "Forget Me Not" is rather extravagant, in its exuberance;

Forget Thee? — then hath beauty lost her charms

To captivate and tenderness grown cold,
As the perennial snows of mountains old :

And hope forsook her throne, and love his arms.
At morn — thou art mine earliest thought — at night

Sweet dreams of thee across my soul are driven,

Almost thou comest between my heart and heaven,
With thy rich voice and floating eyes of light.

Forget thee? Hast then then a doubt of mc,
To whom thou art like sunshine to the Spring

Forget thee? — Never! Let the April tree
Forget to bud — Autumn ripe fruits to bring —

The clouds to fertilize — the birds to sing —
But never while it beats, this bosom thee! ! !

Here and there throughout the anthology, like veins of gold running through
quartz, are gleams of humor, beginning with "Bubble and Squeak," which or-
iginally appeared in the Athenaeum :

Tho' thy lip no more is beautiful, no longer bright thine eye —
I'll thank thee for a little piece of that hot apple pie;
And tho' thy cheek has lost its hue, by years and sorrow chased,
Yet, dearest ! yet — I'll trouble thee for one more bit of paste.
What tho' thy step is dulled and slow — come take a glass of wine;
A thousand charms are left tlee still — these plums are very fine !
Thy heart, dear girl, is still unchanged, still warm is my esteem —
And love and joy shall still be ours — do taste this clouted cream
Ah ! bards may sing, and maids believe — some butter if you please.
That flow'rd forever — won't you take some porter with your cheese?
But trust mc, dearest, youth will fade — this Glostcr's rather stale.
But love can feel no change, dear' Jane — one other glass of ale !
Yes ! Flope revives, and tho' we've past — the Stilton's very nice.
Thro' life's drear pathways, thorn bestrown — I'll take a single slice.
Linked hand in hand, thro' life we'll go — I fear you're rather cold.
Loving and loved, and lovely still — this port is very old.

That our friend was no lover of the numerous beaux of his generation
would appear from the following:

A coxcomb, a fop

A dainty milk-sop

All essenced and dizened

From bottom to top,

Who looks just like a doll from a milliner's shop;

A thing full of prate,

All pride and conceit ;

All fashion, no weight,

Who shrugs and takes snuff.

A minnikin, finnikin,

Finnikin, minnikin,

French powder and puff.

34

FROM AN OLD SCRAP BOOK.

An anacreontic in a livelier strain, is as notable for its philosophic reflection
as for the enjoyment of existence to which it gives utterance:

Pass the bottle round
Joy should have no measure —

Life with love was crowned.
And wine was made for pleasure !

Stoics still may deem,
The smile of bliss deluding,
But who that never knew its beam,

Could call that beam intruding ;
Pass the bottle round, etc., etc.

Who would bear the noise
Of life without its blessing?.

What are all its joys,
Without those joys possessing?

Stoics still may say,
That pleasure comes with sorrow,
But who that sees the sun to-day?

Will fear the clouds to-morrow?
Pass the bottle round, etc., etc.

A number of smaller humorous poems beginning with the following "Con-
jectures,"' from Eraser's Magazine, are presented herewith, without comment:

A horse with his nose in a bag,

Is probably thinking of corn;

A vestment reduced to a rag.

Is likely enough T' been worn ;

A sceptic who boggles at doubts,

May silently swallow a sin:

And, in politics, they who are "outs."

May possibly wish to get in.

A lady, when dressing for church,

May, perhaps have a thought of this earth;

A lover, when left in the lurch,

With maudlin may bother your mirth ;

A lawyer, who frowns for a fee,

May be moved by some deeper pretence;

And a man, who is hanging, can be

In a state of most painful suspense.

An Epigram by Mr. Swete

"To my lord, exclaims Roscius, whilst sipping his glass,

"No claret did ever your lordship's surpass.'' —

"Eh, Garrick ! 'tis true; and I speak within bounds,

When I say 'twas a gift for a couple of hounds !" —

"Ah ! could T. my lord, such a kennel but keep.

Then my claret I'd quaff, as your lordship — dog — cheap."

On a Mr. Peck

Here lies a Peck, which some men say Then adding breath, made Peck a man ;

Was first of all a Peck of clay ; Full fifty years Peck felt life's bubbles,

This wrought with skill divine, while fresh Till death relieved a Peck of troubles ;

Became a curious Peck of flesh : — Then fell poor Peck, as all things must,

Through various forms its maker ran, And here he lies — a Peck of dust.

If in conclusion, I introduce a poem that is deeply expressive of the ten-
der sentiment of home that has alwavs been associated with the Anglo-Saxon,
I am sure I will not only be forgiven but earn the sincere gratitude of the reader.

Let others seek for empty joys,
At ball, or concert, rout, or play;

Whilst, far from fashion's idle noise,
Her gilded domes, and trappings gay,

I while the wintry eve away, —
'Twixt book and lute, the hours divide ;

And marvel how I e'er could stray
From thee — my own fire-side.

My own fire-side ! those simple words
Can bid the sweetest dreams arise ;

Awaken feeling's tenderest chords.
And fill with tears of joy my eyes;

What is there my wild deart can prize
That doth not in thy sphere abide,

Haunt of my home-bred sympathies.
My own — my own fire-side.

DISCOVERY

35

A gentle form is near me now ;
A small, white hand is clasped in mine ;

I gaze upon her placid brow,
And ask what joys can equal thine!

A babe whose beauty's half divine-
In sleep his mother's eyes doth hide ;• —

Where may love seek a fitter shrine,
Than thou — my own fire-side.

What care I for the sullen roar
Of winds without, that ravage earth;

It doth but bid me prize the more
The shelter of thy hallowed hearth,

To thoughts of quiet bliss give birth
Then let the churlish tempest chide

It cannot check the blameless mirth
That glads — my own fire-side.

My refuge ever from the storm,

Of this world's passion, strife and care ;
Though thunder-clouds the sky deform,

Their fury cannot reach me there.
There all is cheerful, calm, and fair,

Wrath, Malice, Envy, Strife, or Pride,
Have never made their hatred lair,

Bv thee — mv own fire-side.

Thy precincts are a charmed ring,

Where no harsh feeling dares intrude;
Where life's vexations lose their sting

Where even grief is half subdued;
And Peace, the halcyon, loves to brood.

Then let the pampered fool deride ;
I'll pay my debt of gratitude

To thee — my own fire-side.

Shrine of my household deities;

Fair scene of homes unsullied joys !
To thee my burthened spirit flies,

When fortune frowns or care annoys ;
Thine is the bliss that never cloys

The smile whose truth hath oft been tried;
What then, are this world's tinsel joys

To thee — my own fire-side.

Oh, may the yearnings, fond and sweet,

That bid my thoughts be all of thee,
Thus ever guide my wandering feet

To thy heart-soothing sanctuary !
Whate'er my future years may be ;

Let joy or grief my fate betide ;
Be still an Eden bright to me

My own — my own fire-side.

m

§M§i

DISCOVERY

By ALFRED NELSON

Ten thousand years have faded

To find the world still young ;
Ten thousand names are written

In song no tongue hath sung;
From strand of lost Atlantis,

To horn of Seventh sea,
Rides ancient ship with rusty crew

To port "Discovery."

Thou dark Phoenician helmsman,
With far-fam'd trader's brain,

Say, did yon red-beard Viking
But plough your track again?

And thou of martial bearing,

And haughty Roman face,
Say, which of those old-world comrades

Sail'd ere we knew your race?

There, by the swart Etruscan

Red Eric stands so bold ! —
Astern the singing spindrift

His long sea-snake of old ! —
A Genoese at lookout,

An Englishman a-lee,
That ship drives on with rusty crew

To port "Discovery!"

AN ICEBOAT BRIDE

By WILLIAM S. BIRGE, M. D.

HE ice yachting was mag-
nificent, the club house
down on Long Island,
facing on Shelter Island
bay, was thronged with
visitors and members to
witness and compete in the races of the
day, and the one girl singled out from all
others was bright Bessie Carter, the
daughter of Captain Carter, of the United
States Navy, and a prize ardently de-
sired by half a dozen men, all eligible,
to whom she apparently dispensed her
favors with an equal hand. If there is
one thing more annoying than another it
is this same lack of discrimination on the
part of a pretty girl. Why cannot they
give a fellow a sort of hint and let him
know if he is likely to have a chance, or
if he is perfectly sure to get the mitten.
It would save such a lot of ill-feeling and
time. Perhaps the girls think they do
show a preference, and that the men are
awfully slow not to notice it, but sure it
is I never saw the slightest shade of dif-
ference in the way Bessie treated me, un-
less it was a difference in favor of the
other fellow. It was with a good deal
of persuasion only that I prevailed on
her to he my sailing partner in the com-
bination crew race, and even when she
consented I felt it was as much because I
had the fastest boat in the fleet as be-
cause I really wished her to come. Even

then she signed to sail with Dick Hat-
teras in the heat preceeding mine, and
which every one expected he would win,
precipitating the issue of who should
have her in the finals. Dick was just
bringing his boat, the Siren, up to the
dock to take her in and, as she seated
herself, she declared she must have his
fur coat. He jumped out to get it, and
leaving her sitting there, not a soul with-
in twenty yards, he carelessly omitted to
either cast his main sheet clear or to tie
the boat up. The bay is notorious for
its sudden flaws of wind, very hard and
strong, and as I covertly glanced out ot
the window in the upper story at Bes-
sie's graceful pose in the sternsheets, I
saw the bow suddenly veer off from the
dock, the sail swing over, cant right
down to leeward, fill the sheet jamb hard
and fast on the "traveler," and the boat
glide away.

"Miss Bessie !" I yelled from the win-
dow, "slack off the sheet quick, and put
the tiller down. Make haste !"

Great Scott ! I might as well have
asked her to solve a Sanscrit inscrip-
tion ; she knew enough to steer a boat
straight, but there her knowledge ended.
She had no more idea of bringing a
boat up in the wind than flying. Laugh-
ing, she waved her hand to my shout, and
seemed to think it fun, while I went
down the steps four at a stride, rushed

WILLIAM S. BIRGE, M. D.

37

on the dock, shouting, "Here, one or two
of you fellows, come on with me, quick ;
the Siren is running amuck with Miss
Carter." Reaching my own boat, lying
with sails up and ready, I sprang in, Tom
Pearson followed, and just as we pushed
her round, Dick ITatteras came tumbling
in with his coat, saying, "Good Heavens !
what is the matter?" And in less than
three minutes we were in full chase, but
nearly a mile astern.

"Take the glass, Tom, and get out on
the beam head to report," and, hanging
on with eyelids, out he went, to call a
minute later, "She's making a fight of it.
Holding the Siren up well in the puffs,
steering straight as a dart. Pity she
doesn't know enough to bring her up.
We will catch her all right, although
there is not much between the boats in
speed, but our advantage is we can sail
ours, and the Siren will be run on a dead
line, and catch all the puffs. Pray that
one does not throw her on her beam
ends ; at thirty miles an hour it would
mean a break of something."

I was at the tiller, favoring the boat
with every trick I knew ; scores of boats
were cruising past with reefs in, but on
we went, with a full sail, quartering the
wind, and there, about three-quarters of a
mile in front, was the slender figure of
the girl, bracing herself to do the best
she knew— keep the boat stright — until
caught. Eight miles away was the head-
land, which shows the end of the long
bay and the way to the Atlantic, and this
was what we were racing for. The Siren
was headed straight between the head-
land and the lower point, and Bessie was
holding it true as a die, and knew no
better than to keep doing so, and three
miles beyond that headland was the end
of the ice and the broken water, with the
ice packed ten feet thick at the edge, and,
concaving under it, a perfect death-trap
for any one who should get a bad spill
over the edge with an inrunning tide
such as we had just at that hour.

Tom came in off the beam and said :
"It's no use staying there. It will be a
near thing if we catch her, and there is
trouble ahead. Here, youngster, (to
Dick), take the glasses and go out there

and report if we gain or not. I have
something else to look after," and as
Dick went, Tom was muttering some-
thing about '"careless young cubs and a
horsewhip." I was too full of trouble
to be angry. I was past that. All I
could think of was that space of long
rollers, lifting the ice, crashing it down
on the floe, breaking a fresh piece, see-
ing it sucked under, never to reappear
until break-up in the spring, and in the
center, Bessie. Whether she cared the
toss of a penny for me now mattered not ;
to save her, even for Dick or any of the
half dozen, was my only prayer, and that
seemed almost too much to expect, and at
times my eyes filled right up, and I scarce
knew for a second or two which way I
was holding. Then I saw Tom on his
knees in the cockpit, splicing odds and
ends of rope together, cutting a ten-foot
piece of the sheet, apparently not caring
if it were likely to be wanted or not. It
was for a life-line. He was an old ice-
boat sailor around this bay, and knew
every chance of it.

On we tore, gaining, gaining, faster
and faster, as the breeze freshened vis-
ibly as we neared the open, and then as
Dick stretched out his arm I saw the long
black line which marked the broken ice —
.black now, then fading away, lifting
again like a sun shadow, and then, it
seemed in a few seconds, I could see the
waves curl up and spread over the edge.
"About a mile a minute, now," said Tom,
with a strained speech, "and we shall nev-
er do it."

We had about two miles to go, and
were within two hundred yards of the
Siren. There was no hope in the world
that we should catch her in time. I
made a rash resolve. "Boys," I shouted,
through the rush of wind past us ; "boys,
this is my risk. I know what game I
am standing for. Drop off here and let
me take her alone. It's our only chance."

"What are you going to do?" said
Tom.

"Catch her or go over the edge with
her," I replied ; "It's our only chance."

"That's all right," said Tom, "I'm
with you. Here, Dick, drop off, and be
handy to do what vou can : wait until we

'Bessie was holding it as true as a die."

WILLIAM S. BIRGK, M. D.

39

are within one hundred yards. Now,
no fooling; do as you are told. It's all
the explanation left you for your careless-
ness."

Just then one of those flaws in a heavy
wind before spoken of dropped right in
the teeth of the blow, the wind snapped
from northwest to nearly nor-nor-west,
down went our helm to meet it, but Bessie,
not knowing the trick, hung fast to the till-
er, and the flaw nearly gibed her — that is,
went round the front of the mast, and
nearly blew the sail right across the boat,
stopping the speed of the Siren materially
for a half minute, and then with a "zipp"
round to the west went the wind, nearly
tearing the mast out of the Siren's foot.
It was a chance in a million and it served.
Tom sprang to his feet, grabbed the life-
line,, ran a hitch round one of the hold-
fasts, and at a gesture Dick seized the
tiller and I, taking the loose end of the
line, stepped as far astern of the cockpit
as I could get, right over the steering
skate. "Bring her right alongside, touch
if you can, hold her until you see me get
Miss Carter into this boat; never mind
about me, jam the helm hard a lee and
bring her up with a smash. Now — "

Grating along the Siren we ran along-
side. With a bound I caught Bessie,
threw her into my boat, down went the
helm, a sudden jerk threw me backwards
off my feet to the ice along which I went
skating on my back, just as a noise of
cracking ice, a sudden grind of the floes,
a rush of icy water over me, a lurch and
a plunge. I thought I was gone, but I
heard Tom's voice : "It's all right, old
boy, not a sixteenth of an inch to spare ;
hold on until the way goes off her —

that's it," and a pair of strong arms lift-
ed me bodily on board the moving boat,
close hauled for home. The Siren was
matchwood in the broken water behind
us, and my boat had escaped, as she
swung round on the broken ice, by the
fraction of a second. Bessie was insen-
sible in the cockpit, and wet through with
the rush of water when the ice broke, but
as I stooped over her she opened her
eyes, they met mine, and her arms open-
ing, closed round my neck.

It was a mean advantage to take, es-
pecially before two other fellows, but for
a matter of ten seconds — or minutes — I
do not think that either of us thought of
the audience, or cared. Not a word was
said, but I reached for the fur coat, rolled
her up in it, sat down in the cock-pit
with her in my lap, while Tom steered
the boat home, through the entire fleet
which had followed on our tracks, not
at first realizing the grim comedy which
was being played. Arriving at the club
house I carried her in to be cared for
by the ladies, and that was all — all, that
is, which you cannot guess. Bessie was
stiff for a day or two, but saw me that
evening, told me that I took a mean ad-
vantage of her, and then, cornered, tried
to make me believe that she saw I would
never have dared to ask her for what had
a long time been mine for the asking,
and that she had been driven to the des-
perate expedient of being run away
with by an ice-yacht to give me the su-
preme happiness of rescuing her and de-
claring myself. And that is the historic
version which is going down to posterity.
Queer folks, women. All but my wife,
Bessie !

A LOVE DREAM

By CALLIE BONNEY MARBLE

TWO souls met in a far-away land —
The beautiful land of a dream —
And plighted their troth in forget-me-nots
That grew by a sunlit stream.

And the two souls met again on the earth,
And vowed for ave to be true.

Then drifted away on the silent stream
To a land o'er the star-flecked blue.

And two souls met in the endless world,
Where love-life forever dwells,

And plighted their troth for eternity
In the fairest of immortelles.

A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL IN HOLLAND'

}T the feast of St. Nicholas,
presents and good wishes
are exchanged, and cakes
are offered at the shrine.
Two of these are very se-
ductive— one a delicately-
flavored gingerbread, made up in the
most fantastic shapes ; the other a de-
liciously-light pastry, fashioned tunnel-
wise, the hollow filled in with a kind of
soft almond icing. Above all, St. Nich-
olas loves the little ones. Nothing pleases
him more than to act the part of good
fairy and convey to them delightful sur-
prises in the most unheard-of and mys-
terious ways. In Yolendam, the children
are of the poorest,
and, the days of mir-
acles being passed,
St. Nicholas has not
much to bring them ;
but the good Domin-
ican nuns, who man-
age the poor schools,
try to make the day
as happy as may be
with the means at
their disposal. Oi
December 5, 1900,
the feast was cele-
brated in a way the
little Volendamers
will not easily for
get.

At the Hotel
Spaander was stay-
ing, besides our-
selves, a French art-
ist, who agreed with
us that the Dutch
children should have
a real good time
we were supported by our host
Spaander and his wife and their family
of blooming daughters. In the wooden
hotel there is a "coffee-room," long and
low, of really vast proportions. (In the
summertime, half of it forms the draw-
ing-room). At the farther end of this
apartment is a small stage, with wings,
etc. For this occasion (thanks to Spaan-

* From "Holland" by Nico and Beatrix Junkman, London

They crowded cibou
for once. In this

der ) , the whole of it was covered in spot-
less white (summer sheets, I suspect),
tables were erected, and upon their sur-
face were arranged about a thousand
toys and as many oranges and cakes. A
white throne was placed for St. Nicholas.
The costumes we designed and carried
out ourselves. For St. Nicholas (our
French friend) there was a long white
woolen robe falling over a purple silk
underdress, a cape of costly old yellow
brocade, and a gorgeous jewelled mitre,
to crown the head made venerable by
long whitQ hair and beard. The dress of
the Black Slave (Nico) was equally cor-
rect and effective — a long tight-fitting
garment of green
velvet, showing a
white robe under-
neath ; an orange
silk turban wound
round the black
locks of a disguising
wig and lighting up
his cork-black face.
So much for the
preparations, com-
pleted with consider-
able trouble and a
great deal of amuse-
ment.

Nico painted a
large poster, on
which was set forth
a notice to all the
children of Volen-
dam that at 6:30 a
boat would land up-
on the quay, bearing
St. Nicholas and his
t the announcement. faithful slave laden

with gifts. One may easily imagine
the joy and delight of these poor
fisher-children, into whose uneventful
lives never enters the joy of what
English children call a treat. They
crowded about the announcement, and
read that St. Nicholas would come
laden with gifts. Who can say what
wild, beautiful hope-; filled their hearts?
Before five o'clock the youngsters began

Adam and Charles Elack.

A venerable figure standing in the boat, crosier in hand.

Most of them believed firmly that it wci s the real saint descended from heaven.

A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL IN HOLLAND.

43

to assemble. The quay was crowded
with them ; so was the narrow road lead-
ing from the quay to the hotel. The pa-
rents also were there, quite as excited
and almost as credulous as their children.
Indeed, all Volendam turned out to wel-
come the saint. Rain began ; but, al-
though it soaked their poor clothes, it
seemed to have no damping effect upon
their spirits, all afire as they were with
expectation. Meanwhile the saint and
his slave rowed out to their boat, and I
made my way to the quay to witness the
arrival. It was now almost dark; but
in the faint light one could still distin-
guish the fishing-boats which always
crowd the harbor, their tall masts and
sails dimly defined against the gray sky,
and their narrow flags gently flapping in
the rain. At one point there was an
opening between the boats, a glimmering
waterway, where the initiated expected
the boat to appear. The time passed
slowly. It was seven o'clock ; the saint
was half an hour late, and everyone was
very wet. I found it difficult to imitate
the cheerful good humor with which all
Volendam waited.

At length a blaze of Bengal light far
out on the water revealed the saint — a
venerable figure standing in the boat,
crosier in hand, evidently blessing the
expectant crowd. In a few moments the
boat reached the landing-place. With
blare of trumpets, and by the light of
the torches, a procession was formed.
Would that I could describe the faces
and figures illumined by the flickering
glow ! Soon the warm, well-lighted cafe
was reached. The saint sat on his throne,
and his good slave rapidly distributed
presents to the little ones. How glad

one was to see them safely housed from
the inclement weather ! Alas ! they were
very wet ; but, as not one of the seven
hundred coughed during the distribution,
it may be concluded that the young Vol-
endamers do not easily take cold. Their
surroundings are so damp that they are
almost amphibious.

Every face beamed with happiness —
the genial St. Nicholas and his hard-
worked slave ; the Spaander family, all
helping vigorously ; the three fine tall
Volendamers who, in their yellow scarves
of office, kept order so gently and gaily ;
the very youngest child — all the faces
were sweet and patient, and aglow with
the pleasure either of giving or of re-
ceiving.

The crowd of children looked plump
and healthy, and, although many gar-
ments were much patched, there were no
rags — the poorest, looked cared for and
comfortable.

Seven hundred of them were made
happy with toys and fruit ; but there was
no scrambling or pushing, nothing but
patient, glowing expectation, and then
still more glowing satisfaction. All too
soon it was over ; the last child clattered
down the long room with its precious
armful. The Black Slave was very
weary (he had worked like a proverbial
nigger), and we retired to our couches,
to dream it all over again.

Afterwards we heard from the school-
teachers and the children's parents that
most of them believed firmly that it was
the real saint descended from heaven
who had laid his hands on their heads in
benediction as they received their pres-
ents from the Black Slave.

By BEN. WINSLOW

HAT news items in the
daily press, taken collec-
tively, make history, all
are agreed ; that they
sometimes make romance
with a true heart interest,

is shown by the following clippings :
(Clipped August 9, 1904).

A FATAL ACCIDENT.

Highland Suburban Car Topples Over.

CROWDED WITH PEOPLE.

Mil. S. M. WILSON DIES FROM HIS
INJURIES.

Many Others Require Hospital Treatment —

Motorman Arrested — Coroner to Hold

Inquest Wednesday.

Highland Suburban car 325 jumped
the track on the curve at 4th and Port-
land streets. West End, this morning
about 7:24 o'clock, and many passengers
were injured. One of them, Mr. S. M.
Wilson, forty-five years old, who lived
at 904 Superior avenue, South Edgmore,
died at the Homeopathic Hospital about
ten o'clock.

The only other passenger who received
injuries, which it is thought, may prove
fatal is an unknown white man, about

twenty-three years old. He is under
treatment at Douglas Hospital.

Motorman George Burrell, of 134
Baker street, was handling the motor,
and his explanation of the affair is that
he did not know his car was so near the
curve until it had almost reached there.
The fog was so dense, he states, that he
was able to see but a short distance
ahead. Up to a late hour this afternoon
the unknown man at Douglas Hospital
had not regained consciousness, and the
doctors at the hospital have been un-
able to identify him. The only ' paper
found in his pockets that throws any
light on the matter, was the following
unaddressed letter :

"Dear Gertrude : — All our little air-
castles have tumbled down ; the business
has gone to smash for want of money
to properly equip the road. With ten
thousand dollars I could do it, and then
everything would be our way. As it is,
all but my last dollar is gone and there
is no money in sight. I had hoped to
have this thing going by Thanksgiving,
and felt sure that, with such bright pros-
pects for the future, I could win your
father's consent to our marriage. It
looks now as if you will have to do as
he tells you and marry young Dwight.
He is a good chap, and if I cannot have
you, I would rather see you married to

THROUGH THE EYE OF THE TRESS.

45

him than to anybody else. But if you
can hold out another year against your
father, perhaps things will come our way.
(Signed), N. R."
The letter was not enclosed in an en-
velope and there were no other names
given. An effort will be made to locate
the Mr. Dwight mentioned.

* s(c * * * * *

(Clipped August io, 1904).

IDENTIFIED AS NORMAN RUSSELL.

The unknown man, who was seriously
injured by the overturning of a Highland
Suburban car at the corner of 4th and
Portland streets, yesterday morning, has
been identified as Norman C. Russell, of
1326 Somerset avenue, West Brighton.
Mr. Henry L. Dwight, of 2143 4th ave-
nue, called at Douglas Hospital late last
night and positively identified the still
unconscious man. An operation will be
performed this afternoon, for the re-
moval of a fragment of the skull which
is thought to press upon the brain.

* * * * * * *

(Clipped November 2, 1904).

MR. RUSSELL RECOVERED.

Mr. Norman C. Russell was dis-
charged from Douglas Hospital to-day,
having completely recovered from inju-
ries received in the disastrous street

railway accident last August.

********

(Clipped December 2, 1904).

DEATH RESULT OF ACCIDENT.

Injuries Received in Ila.sket Ball Game Fatal
to Henry Dwight.

Henry Louis Dwight, a member of the
basket ball team of the Reed Athletic
Club, died at his home 2143 4th avenue

Thursday, under circumstances which
make his death a peculiarly sad one. He
was injured Thanksgiving day while
playing a game with his team. The in-
jury was to his head and his death was
the result of cerebral meningitis.

(Clipped July 12, 1905).

AWARDED $13,000 DAMAGES.

The jury in Equity Court No. 1, to-
day awarded damages in the sum of
$15,000 in the suit against the Highland
Suburban Street Railway Company,
brought by Mr. Norman C. Russell. Mr.
Russell, it will be remembered, was se-
verely injured by the overturning of one
of the defendant's cars at 4th and Port-
land streets, earlv last August;

(Clipped from the Society Column, Oc-
tober 29, 1905).

A pretty wedding occurred at St.
Aim's Catholic Church, Wednesday eve-
ning, at 5 o'clock. The parties united
were Miss Gertrude Ellsworth, daughter
of Mr. Howard A. Ellsworth, and Mr.
Norman C. Russell, the Rev. Father Jo-
seph Ryan performing the ceremony.
The bride wore a gown of white point
de esprit elaborately hand embroidered
in panel effect and a white hat of panne
velvet and white plumes. She carried a
bouquet of white roses. After the cere-
mony a large reception was held at the
home of the bride's parents. Many hand-
some presents were received.

1 ^ C

CfHK BOSTON SUNDAY GT.OBF

_ THE ST.LOUS REPUBLIC
THENDETKOrr Fg ^S^&*tf

E XEw" YOKK TIMES

'• " =^" T '*" -■■-•■ ■ WI\IV |l.UJ,M

THE SIGN OF THE HOOK

A SIWASH TALE
By L. BUSH LIVERMORE

ILL this happened on the
seaward heel of Three
Tree Spit, where the Si-
washes camp on their
way down from the North
to the hop fields of Puy-
allup and Yakima. 1 took the tale from
the mouth of Pootstubs, an Aleutian In-
dian, who is the father of a large family
and who tells only the truth. Pootstubs
was there. He saw everything as it
happened. He thought it wonderful —
so wonderful that when he reached Ta-
coma last summer he hunted me up and
told me the tale as it is here set down.

Pootstubs and I were tillicums, in Sit-
ka, long ago. When I left him there and
came South, he wept. And each year
since, when Pootstubs joins the exodus
of Indians to Puget Sound during hop-
picking season, T meet him — sometimes
at the canoe-landing on the Puyallup
river, near the old agency settlement,
and sometimes along the seawall at Taco-
ma, where the mosquito craft land in
such numbers that it reminds one of Bal-
last Island, in Seattle, of earlier days,
when that was the port of entry and
clearance of the fleets of northern canoes.
And because I give Pootstubs ripe fruit
for his large family of velvet-eyed Aleut
.papooses ; and brilliant colored cloth for
his klootch, and piah clinch for Pootstubs
himself — he is my friend.

Thus it happened that on a day. Poot-
stubs, and his wife, trailing a retinue
of young Pootstubs, crowded into the
newspaper office in Tacoma, where I held
forth, and enquired gutturally of the
city editor, who happened to be near the
door, for "Kamik-See Bush." The as-
tonished city editor summoned me,
whom he knew could speak the jargon of
the native, and then watched with bewil-
dered eyes my sudden and complete
transformation from a fairly well-be-
haved sub-editor into a gesticulating,
guttural Siwash.

Pleasant was the greeting of Poot-
stubs. He gave me the peculiar hand-
shake of the Esquimaux, and called me
brother of the dolphin and his brother
by blood. Very embarrassing, however,
was the deportment of the younger mem-
bers of his large family, who clasped me
around the knees and shouted :

"Kamik-See. Kamik-See. Ai! Ai!"

But regarding the episode of Three
Tree Spit. It was wonderful. Touch-
ing the matter of its truth — well, Poot-
stubs told me.

"All my people know I do not lie," said
Pootstubs. "Also the Tlingits and the
Flatheads and the dogs of the Upper
Seas, from whom I take sealskins and
walrus-tusks and pelt of foxes in re-
turn for iron things I pick up down Sitka
way, know I tell the things which are.
And Kamik-See — Ai ! He remembers
me. My brother knows that only Tlin-
gits lie. He knows that I am neither
blubber-bred Tlingit nor thieving Flat-
head, but only Aleut, from the islands
which bridge the warm South Behring
sea. The Kamik-See may take my wife,
my canoe, my dogs, if he finds I depart
ever so little from the truth.

"Klaa! The Kamik-See knows this
Three-Tree Spit? Yes. Also he knows
that my people, and all the injuns from
further South, when they come down
from the North to mam o ok haps, land
their canoes there and rest for a night.
An hundred tupics spring up in the time
it takes one fish duck to dive and come
up again. And very quietly, too ; for my
people are not noisy. Except for the
children and the dogs, who play on the
beaches, Three-Tree Spit is very still,
even when the smoke from fifty camp-
fires blows lazily back to the hills. Ai !
Ai ! It's a long paddle without resting
from The Straits to Three-Tree Spit;
and it's verv good to lie on your back and
smell the v ood smoke and hear the surf

1.. BUSH LIVERMORE.

47

beat and wonder at the stars till yon sleep
like the cow walrus, full-fed.

"Kamik-See knows I am growing old.
Look. The Northland snows have fal-
len on my head. It is white. Also un-
arm, once strong- as spear-thong, is slen-
der now as the limb of a caribou. Huh-
yee ! And the journey from Sitka south
— For weeks, my brother, the sail hung
idle ; it was paddle, paddle, paddle. And
when, on yestereve, at the flood of the
tide, we landed at Three-Tree Spit. I was
very, very tired. Ai ! Very tired.

"Kamik-See remembers Oddsooks,
the Tlingit — him with the red scar on
he cheek ? No ? Oyee ! My brother
has yc -' ' ° the ugliest man. Oddsooks
— yah! — he w^a ugly; — almost so ugly
as my wife when she dresses her hair for
the Feast up North. This Tlingit dog
was bidden to leave Loboff island be-
cause and because. Yes, he was a thief.

"See, now, brother. Oddsooks lay in
his tupic when my canoe grounded on
the pebbles, and he grunted like the stuck
musk-ox when I hailed him with The
Sign.

" 'We be far from home now, Poot-
stubs,' grunted Oddsooks, 'and all things
of the North are left behind — even the
Sign.'

"Kamik-See understands? No? Then
Kamik-See must know that Oddsooks
lied — aye, he blasphemed. The Sign is
never left behind — never. Long years
ago, as we sat on the Bird Rocks at Point
Loboff, Kamik-See told me of certain
things kept secret among his people. He
called them 'lodges' did he not? Yes.
And he spoke learnedly of 'grips' and
'passwords' and 'signs.' Yes. I remem-
ber. Know, then, brother, that Aleuts
have these — not the same as yours, but
meaning the same. And sometimes into
these ukhlooni are taken the trans-border
people, the Russians, and sometimes the
little men from the South Coast — Japan
and Korea. When these drift North
they meet and hail, after the manner of
brothers. They know The Sign and are
Aleuts — even as we would be Japanese
did we go South and hail. And from
over Baffin's Bay and the White Country

further north ; from the ice-cliffs of Si-
beria, and still west of there ; from all
the places where the ice nips and where
men fight with hunger and cold through
the awful long nights of the North, men
come and hail with The Sign. Oyee ! It
is very powerful. More I cannot tell.
This and no more: that south of what
you call the Arctic Circle there are no
ukhlooni — no 'lodges.'

"And Oddsooks — ugly, Scar-faced,
grunting dog of an Oddsooks — sneered
at The Sign. I was very angry, and
made the circle thrice of my tupic, for
that is taught. Also, it is the Law that
whomsoever sees or hears the Sign and
does not respond, belongs to Sedna.
Things happen to him. Yah ! One time
Koddook, from around the edge of In-
termuk, was found dead with The Sign
on his forehead, because he had thrown
his spear through the snow-house where
ukhlooni was being held. And one
time —

"Patience, my brother. Old Pootstubs
tells a tale like a sledge journey over
broken ice, with many bumps to one side
and many stops. And it is not wise to
hasten over unfamiliar ground. But see,
now, Kamik-See. Even before the last
hit of ojo had been eaten in my tupic
that night on Three-Tree Spit I heard a
cry from the darkness. Kamik-See
knows how the little hairs low down on
the neck seem to pull very hard when
one hears a cry from the night, and when
one is blind from the firelight and cannot
see beyond the tiny circle lit by the
flickering blaze?

"Huh-yee ! When I came to the wa-
ter, I beheld Oddsooks' canoe drifting
away. It was empty, yet I heard whis-
pers and paddle-swish.

"'Ho!' I shouted, and straightway
all the dogs in all the tupics set up a
howl. Then the canoe faded away. It
did not move out, my brother. No. It
faded away, like the water-fire fades
when the shark's cease playing.

"'Ho!' I shouted again. There was
no answer. Then I went to Oddsooks'
tupic and found him dead with his mouth
open by the side of his smouldering fire.

48

A SHORT ORDKR CHRISTMAS.

Also the Sign was on his forehead. I
speak the truth."

This the tale of Footstubs. Regarding
the mysterious nature of his narrative
there is perhaps nothing to be offered in
explanation. And _\ et? later, up in Sno-
homish, Pilchuck Jack, now dead, told
me a gossipy tale about a young Lummi
buck eloping with a Tlingit's squaw one
night on Three-Tree Spit.

"Kloshe yoka copszvallow," said Jack,
"Oakoke Tlingit delate mesatchc. Lum-

mi mammook memaloose, hyak klataivali
copa kanim." Which being freely trans-
lated means that it was a neatly executed
maneuver; that the Tlingit objected to
his wife's departure and was killed ; and
that the elopers fled in a canoe. In de-
tail Jack told me that the stroke which
effectually silenced the old Tlingit was
dealt with a native Siwash canoe-maker's
primitive adz ; that the blow was a short,
scooping stab, which left a gash in the
forehead shaped like a fish hook.

Pilchuck Jack, however, had the repu-
tation of being a notorious liar.

. >'■■■-

A SHORT ORDER CHRISTMAS

By DOROTHY POSEGATE

F you call this Christmas,"
said Miss Tomassa, "your
imagination is better than
mine. Here we are set
down in a desert, our
nearest neighbor six miles
away and a roaring torrent between us
and the imitation approach to a civilized
community, these people call town."

Billy rippled joyously, "Now Aunt
Tom," she said, "your descriptive powers
are all mixed up. The idea of calling
this green and fertile country a desert,
especially in the face of all the rain we
have been having lately. But anyway
we've achieved our object partly, because
when we came you didn't have energy
enough to get angry about anything.
Aunt Tom, you're a dear. The doctor
said we were to try roughing it, on a
wild deserted strand, and here we are,
having faithfully carried out his orders
for the past three months."

"And been rained on the blessed time,"
quoth Miss Tom.

"Surely," said the irrepressible, "for
here the gentle drops fall alike on the
just and the unjust. But you can't deny,
Aunt Tom, that we two have had literally

the time of our young lives, and just to
prove to you that in the bright lexicon
of youth, nothing is impossible, I'm going
out and rustle a Christmas."

"Billy," said Miss Tom, "I think you're
capable of most anything, but it takes
more than two people to make a Christ-
mas."

"As if I didn't know that," cried Billy,
slipping on her cravanette nding suit and.
rubber boots. "As if I hadn't spent
twenty-one Christmases, beautiful, jolly
ones, too, in this old hard shell world.
And mark my words, Tommie, this
twenty-second is going to be the jolliest
of all. Just you keep the kitchen fire
humping and put some dried apricots
and plums to soak. Where did I put
that oil skin hat — oh here it is. Now
fare thee well, my gentle dame, and if I
don't bring back Santa himself, I'll get
some sort of a substitute."

Miss Tom watched her out to the barn
with a very affectionate smile in her
blue eyes.

"They don't make many such girls,"
she said. "Think of her rusticating out
here with her old aunt, instead of enjoy-
ing a beautiful winter in town."

DOROTHY POSEGATE.

49

But Billy wasn't thinking of any such
things. She was humming a little tune
and trying to get the bridle bit between
Becky's clenched teeth. Becky was a
small black mare who had had her own
way for six years, and consequently was
a self-willed little butterball, with a
marked aversion to saddles, bridles, and
running gear of all kinds. She consid-
ered green fields and pastures new the
only things seriously worthy of her at-
tention.

A few well directed but gentle blows
from Billy's rubber clad heels, tele-
graphed the news from Becky's brain to
her legs, that she might as well be mov-
ing. So at last they were started, to
bring back from somewhere in this rain
swept Sacramento Valley, a bit of the
Christmas that was causing mirth and
rejoicing in the cities of the East.

"We're perfectly foolish," said Billy,
"We won't get a thing out of this trip
but a soaking. But then there is mistle-
toe down at the river — heaps of it — and
after all that's what we want, isn't it
Beck?"

Becky shook her head as though dis-
claiming any responsibility in the mat-
ter. She felt in her innermost soul, and
her ears showed it, that if she had had
any voice in the matter she would have
remained decently in a dry stable and
taken the good the gods provide without
hunting more.

When she pulled her up at last,
Becky turned her head inquiringly as
though to ask, what mad, imprudent
thing her mistress would next attempt.
Billy answered with a cry of disappoint-
ment, for though the oaks and cotton-
woods along the river bank were full of
mistletoe, it was all far out of reach, and
the lower branches of the trees were not
low enough to offer a good climbing foot-
hold.

"Becky, you villian, you might have
known, but I won't go back to Aunt Tom
without some mistletoe. Oh ! for the
wings of a dove ! Or a giant's stature."

"I'd prefer the wings of a dove," came
mysteriously from somewhere, and look-
ing up Billy encountered a pair of brown

eyes though the branches of the nearest
oak.

"Heavens!" she gasped, "do trees
talk?"

"Not always," said a smiling young
man as he swung himself down to a lower
branch, "but in this case courtesy de-
manded. You are looking for mistle-
toe?"

Two deep, alluring dimples peeped out
in Billy's cheeks as she pushed the flop-
ping hat up out of her eyes. "I am look-
ing for Christmas," she said.

"Gee !" — and then as he noted the dim-
ples, the clear soft eyes, and the sweet red
mouth, he stammered — "I — I — think
you're it."

Billy laughed gaily when he reached
the ground. "Do you know," she said,
"it is queer, but I thought you were it.
though as Aunt Tomassa says, neither
one person nor two persons can make a
Christmas."

"I can see where two might," he said,
"especially in this rain soaked portion of
the universe. I've been up in that tree
an hour hacking at mistletoe, though I
didn't really care whether I got it or not,
just trying to pretend that there was
something to be joyful about, but now —
is it an optical illusion, or do I see the
sun ?"

"It certainly isn't raining so hard,"
said Billy, "and over there in the west.
is a three inch expanse of blue sky. But
I'm puzzled, do you come of the tree
dwelling Moros ?"

"I beg your pardon," he said quickly,
removing his hat, "but when you find an
angel unawares, you forget the formali-
ties of introduction. I'm Hal Sommers
of the Jolly John, and always at your
service."

Billy held out her slim brown hand,
"The Jolly John's all Greek to me, but
I'm Billy Booth of Providence, and Hal
is just the sort of name I like."

"But Providence," said Hal. "is such
a way from here."

"And the Jolly John"— she laughed.

"Oh that's just over the road a bit. A
fine old ranch and I'm proud of it, but
my mother and sisters would spend the
winter in Frisco, and I'm lonesome."

&

A SHORT ORDER CHRISTMAS.

"Yow poor fellow," said Billy sympa-
thetically, "Aunt Tom and I came out
here for her health and we've got the
dearest little house you ever saw, but two
don't make a Christmas as I said before.
I promised Aunt Tom I'd find somebody
— Mr. Sommers — will you — " she smiled
very engagingly — will you spend Christ-
mas with us?"

"Will I! — well, you just watch. Cud-
dy," he called, "You Cuddy," and whist-
led a long drawn note. In answer a slim
calico pony crashed through the under-
brush at the left.

"Will I !" said Hal as he mounted,
"Now just mention in what direction
vour shack lies."

"But," said Billy, "don't you know of
someone else we could get. All this
mistletoe and the coziest manzanita fire,
even if the food is only figs and rice.
There ought to be somebody."

Hal thought deeply, quite wrinkling his
fine forehead. "There ought, there is,"
he finished eagerly — "the funniest little
family you ever saw. The father's in
Frisco, the stepmother's an old Irish wo-
man that he married to take care of the
kids, nice boys too, but they're mis-
chievious and I guess lead poor Mrs.
Uhrhardt a life. I know they haven't
any money, and I'll bet they're feeling
bluer than I was a while ago."

Billy fairly clapped her hands. "Hal
Sommers," she said, "You're a nice, nice
man. We'll go right this minute and
get the blessed family."

"You wouldn't mind," he asked, "my
suggesting our riding over to the Jolly
John and getting a wagon, would you?
•You see Mr. Uhrhardt didn't leave them
anything but a sled with a barrel on it to
haul water in from our windmill, and I
don't believe Cuddy or your little mare
would carry double. Besides this morn-
ing I killed a wild duck. We can add
that to the rice and figs."

Billy was radiant, the sun from very
envy peeping out behind the clouds. She
pulled the little gold watch from her belt,
and clicked her heel into Becky's sides.
"It's ten o'clock," she cried, "Christmas
most gone and nothing done yet."

The sun had come out for the rest of

the day now, and the softest of white
clouds were just kissing the highest
Sierras. Above the drip of the soaked
tree branches and the creak of their
saddles, they could hear the rushing, im-
portant Sacramento, carrying its burden
from mountain streams and swollen
creeks, down to the ocean. They passed
a perfect grove of manzanita trees, with
their white and pink wax blossoms show-
ing up beautifully against the shiny red
bark and green leaves, and down in a
fair little hollow, were hundreds of but-
tercups, like handsful of sunshine that
had been spilled and forgotten.

"Myself — I can't see how mater and
the girls can forsake this for Frisco,"
said Hal. "But girls are funny. They
like shops, and streets, and houses
jammed close together."

"Do they?" asked Billy. "I don't. But
I do love — rain. Dashing, splashing rain,
or soft, drizzling rain, just any kind that
makes things grow green and beautiful.
And I know its dreadful to say, but I
like to be out in it and get soaked."

"You're different," said Hal, "I could
see that — and — " he grc quite red under
his brown skin — "I gi _ss 'ne reason is
because — you look better in aa oilskin hat
than most."

"Good Heavens," cried Billy, "I'm a
sight — I know it. This thing flopping in
my eyes, my boots full of water, and my
suit drenched. I ought to go back."

"If you do, I'll be miserable," he said.
"You look beautiful — and besides, that
rambling white thing you see over there
is the shack. It won't take five minutes
to hitch up a team."

Billy smiled again. "Well, then we'll
hurry, for there are all those forlorn lit-
tle Uhrhardts, and Aunt Tom waiting pa-
tiently at the window."

It wg.s a spring wagon that Hal select-
ed from among the vehicles outside the
barn, and his steeds were two sleek little
mules. He brought out the wild duck
still in its shining feathers, and a fat
home cured boiled ham. "The little Uhr-
hardts," he said, "have awful appetites."

He threw in the armful of nr'stletoe,
too, and with Billy galloping beside,
rattled off to the diminutive house, built

DOROTHY POSEGATE.

5i

of mud and logs and nondescript lumber,
that the little Uhrhardts called home.
They found them mournfully surround-
ing a monster coop, from which a sly
red fox had just removed their best white
turkey. Mrs. Uhrhardt was wiping her
eyes on her apron, and calling down the
wrath of all the Celtic gods on the said
Reynard's head, when she heard the
wheels.

"Swate mither," she whispered, "Child-
ren, the sights of ye are — rin in the house
quick, there's company comin'. Good
day to ye," she called, "God bless ye fur
a foine young man, Misther Sommers —
en the young lady, too. It's a misfor-
tune we've just suffered. I always said
Tobias was too white en tinder fur this
worrld, but I had counted on mesilf help •
in' him to lave it. Lift yersilves out and
stop fur a cup o' tay now do dears. But
ye see here wus the coop and there was
the fox, and here was me, and Tobias
jist went crazy. We rin around that
coop, til me legs — savin' yer prisence —
give out, Tobias dropped, en that fox had
him like a wink "

"I'm sorr";" Sc'd Hal, "just dreadfully
sorry, but we've come to ask you to our
party. This young lady is Miss Booth,
and she and I are trying to get up a
Christmas party. I think we'll have a
really jolly time."

Mrs. Uhrhardt lifted her apron and
wiped her eyes again. "Yer that thought-
ful," she said. "The children have been
talking of their father en Christmas the
blissed day. We'll be thankful to ye."

Billy flung her reins to either side and
jumped down, "I'll help you get them
ready," she. said.

The little Uhrhardts were steps, with
the space of two years between them, and
the youngest was five. Of late they had
had very little to eat, and their little
German faces were thin in consequence,
with slight puckers at the eyes. Their
speech, when they spoke, was neither
German, nor Irish, nor English — it was
merely the tongue of the little Uhrhardts.

When they were safely stowed in the
wagon, with Mrs. Uhrhardt sitting like
a spirited ramrod, Hal wanted Billy to
take the seat beside him, but she refused,

because, though she hesitated to mention
it, she had serious doubts of Becky's com-
ing, should she be reduced to a wagon
appendage.

Miss Tomassa was at the window,
waving the dish towel excitedly, and
smiling in a friendly, if somewhat in-
credulous, manner. With the speed of
lightning Billy pulled the little Uhr-
hardts out of the wagon and tumbled
them into the door Miss Tomassa held
open for them.

"I'm a miracle, aunt Tom," she
laughed, "a doer of deeds. Behold Mrs.
Uhrhardt, the little Uhrhardts, and Mr.
Santa Claus Sommers."

Mrs. Uhrhardt was volubly happy.
She shook hands with Miss Tom like an
old, old friend, and the little Uhrhardts
each wore a wide enchanted smile. To
Hal, fresh from his rough ranch life,
and the plain ill-cared for house where
he had been living since his family left,
the sweet, clean room was a revelation.
It had not occurred to him that the
Sacramento Valley contained any place
so charming. The walls and ceiling
were of planed white pine, most har-
monious background for the sepia etch-
ings and few water colors that adorned
them ; the matting of the floor was green
and brown, and the quaint mission furni-
ture, although it had originated so close
to his home, was the first he had ever
seen. But best of all was the wide, deep
fire place, that held as the room's very
heart the beautiful blue flames of the
manzanita backlogs.

Miss Tom was a lover of people. She
took them all to her heart immediately,
as she woidd also have to her arms, if
she could have accommodated them.

She strewed the bed in the next room
with their wraps and hurried Billy out
into the kitchen to see to dinner.

Hal, having attended to the horses,
watched her go a little wistfully, and
was quite prepared to be gloomy, 'til
she beckoned him to come too. Then he
almost overturned the table in his eager
haste.

"You see," she explained to him as she
put oh a kettle of water, "There's that
duck to clean."

52

A SHORT ORDER CHRISTMAS.

"I'll do it," he cried. "I'm a fine hand.
It was part of my education, learning to
cook. I could get the whole dinner."

"No doubt," laughed Billy, "but I'm
not going to let you. The biscuits and
duck stuffing must be mine. But you
may go down in the cellar and bring up
a bag of figs."

In fifteen minutes they were deep in
the mystery of the Christmas dinner.
Artistic patches of flour adorned their
faces, and flour was sprinkled impartially
over their hair. They rushed madly
from the table to the stove and from the
stove to the pantry. They bent with ap-
palling earnestness over a huge green
cook book, whose mysterious words in-
variably refused to convey the same
meaning to both their minds, and from
three chairs at respectful distances from
the scene of action, one chopping raisins,
one shelling nuts, one eating figs, the little
Uhrhardts looked on, breathlessly ex-
cited.

In the next room Mrs. Uhrhardt and
Miss Tom arranged the table with em-
broidered pieces, Manzanita blossoms,
mistletoe, and all the best china. Once
or twice they ventured to peep into the
kitchen, but were summarily ordered out.
Finally when everything was done to a
turn each of the little Uhrhardts was al-
lowed a sounding whack at the Japanese
gong, and the dinner began.

The little Uhrhardts had their napkins
tied stiffly under grins that went from
ear to ear. Victor told unbelievable tales
of his dog Sancho. Edouard said this
was like Christmas in the Vaterland.
Mrs. Uhrhardt laughed till she cried
She ate and drank, and ate again, punct-
uating her conversation with, "God bless
ye, ladies, an' the Pope could say no
more."

When it was all over and they had
gone back to the sitting room the sun
was just seeking his bed, down the other
side of the coast range, but Billy who
was wise in the ways of children, knew
that there was still something wistful be-
hind the silence of the little Uhrhardts ;
knew that they had not quite experienced

a Christmas of the Vaterland. So she
beckoned Hal into the room with the
wraps.

"They miss the presents," she said.

Hal dived into his pockets, "Of
course," he answered.

He pulled out a knife, two pencils, a
note book, a whistle, a little jade god
and three picture postals. "Everything
I've got," he said ruefully.

Billy was overhauling her bureau
drawer. Three ribbons for neckties she
found, a catshead stickpin with gleaming
red eyes, some blue bordered handker-
chiefs, a Japanese doll, some small tin
dishes, one time cotillion favors and three
Japanese fairy books.

With the true Santa Claus spirit they
wrapped up these few things and hid
them around the room. Then Billy mag-
nificently flung open the door, and invited
the little Uhrhardts to enter. Dazedly
they began to hunt, being medium, hot,
,and cold, but when the little jade god was
found and taken from his tissue paper
covering, then into the eyes of all three,
came the perfect content of Christmas.

The little Uhrhardts had to be carried
to the wagon, so they didn't know that
the rest of the ham and the nuts and
cake went with them. Nor did they see
Hal with his hat under his arm, saying
good-night to Billy.

"It's the best Christmas I ever had,"
he said.

"And I," said Billy.

"And I," echoed Miss Tom.

"And our next one," said Hal, "will
be better still."

"Our next one," cried Billy, "Aunt
Tom's and mine, will be in a city of the
East."

"Not," said Hal, very earnestly, "if the
gods are good to me."

The moon was sailing grandly with her
attendant stars, and the little mules
pawed the ground. Reluctantly Hal gave
them the reins, his eyes still turned to
the slim figures on the porch, to whose
warm, "Come again, all of you," Mrs.
Uhrhardt called gladly, "God bless ye,
ladies, for our Christmas cheer."

THE AVENGING VASE

By LANNIE HAYNES MARTIN

AM an old maid — such a
very old maid that no one
even thinks of me as such.
I am called an old lady —
"the queer little old lady
in the second story front"
the boarders say — I hear them — and,
knowing as they do. that I prefer solitude
to their society and having taken the
trouble to form some unique and amus-
ing theories in regard to my pastimes
and proclivities, perhaps I do seem
somewhat peculiar. But they are mis-
taken in one thing at least — I haven't
an aversion to children — real children —
it is prodigies like Gladys, who needs
must entertain you with her accomplish-
ments, that I object to. Natural child-
ren I like fully as well as I like cats, but
Rameses being a superior cat I think his
society more tranquilizing than that of
a child, and at eighty one likes tran-
quility. In fact, I have always liked it
and that is why I have lived always by
myself and not with the nieces and
nephews who are gay society folk and
have much hubbub and unrest. And
had I lived with them I would not have
found Rameses, and but for Rameses the
vision had not come, the curse had not
ended and the world would never have
known the history of the Egyptian vase.
The way it came into my possession
was very strange indeed. One morning
I saw in the Leader there would be an
auction sale of unclaimed express pack-
ages in the Bidner building that day at
ten o'clock — on "old boss sale," as it is
vulgarly called — and as I had heard of
people getting some very valuable and
interesting things at such places I went.
There was no very enthusiastic bidding
and for seventy-five cents I secured a
package twelve or fourteen inches long
and of right good bulk, but not heavy.
It was addressed to M Hall, Phila-
delphia, the first name being too blurred
to read and there was no street address.
I afterwards surmised that some one,
absent-mindedly ignoring the Board of

Directors, had sent it to Memorial Hall
to be put in a curio collection, for there
was a numbered label pasted on it.

As I have said, the package was very
light and I picked it up and hurried home
to open it. I was living then farther
down on Spruce street, the residence and
business sections being at that time no
very great distance apart, and I could
walk briskly enough in those days. But
a biting wind was sweeping up from the
Delaware and to cut off a corner I
crossed through Washington Square.

The trees and sky were gray and little
patches of grayish, sooty snow lay scat-
tered about and — I stood still — my lorg-
nette went up — was I losing my senses?
was that heap of snow moving? A
strange, foolish chill shot through me,
but in a moment I was laughing aloud
at my apprehension of the supernatural
and was stooping down to grasp a fluffy,
grayish ball, a tiny, half-blind kitten, too
cold to cry and apparently but a few days
old. It slipped easily into my muff and
no one whispered, as I passed up the
stairs that day, "Miss Curtin's brought
home another stray cat !"

But this kitten found no older resident
to look with cold, suspicious, disapprov-
ing eyes at his intrusion for, realizing
that only a most extraordinary cat could
retain its respectability in a boarding
house, I had always secured more suita-
ble homes for my foundlings. We found
a cosy fire awaiting us, though, in my
sitting-room and, after making the kitten
comfortable on an Angora rug, I hast-
ened "to untie my package. When I
opened the box I found a beautiful blue
vase, with tints ranging from turquoise
to deep indigo — a fragile, dainty thing,
shaped like a Persian gul-a-pash with a
bulb-like bowl and a long slender stem
shooting up and opening out at the top
like a morning-glory, when, weighted
with dew, it bends at one side, disclosing
the velvet texture and violet veining of
its richly-colored chalice. From the
first instant I beheld the vase I realized

54

THE AVENGING VASE.

that there was something peculiarly beau-
tiful about it. Its changing hues seemed
from a glow within itself, rather than
from the light without, and its exquisite
contour was classic enough for me to
place it beside my Parian Venus, where
it sat for several days unmoved, but
gazed upon by wondering and admiring
eyes — mine and the kitten's. He lay on
the rug dreamily contemplating it with
half-shut eyes and a ponderous, inscruta-
ble expression much too grave for a kit-
ten. It was then I first began to observe
that he was no ordinary cat, and it was
his seriousness and dignity that suggest-
ed the Egyptian, and I named him Ram-
eses.

He showed none of the finer traits,
however, that have manifested them-
selves since, and I presume an unthink-
ing person would have considered him
then only a stupid, indolent, uninterest-
ing cat. He received scant attention
from my callers, but they all admired
the vase and took for granted that it had
been picked up with my other curios in
Italy.

One day a friend brought me a rose —
a great red, glowing Jacqueminot — and
I thought, how beautiful that will look
in my new vase ; but I was surprised
and disappointed ; the colors did not har-
monize, the effect was extremely inartis-
tic and — what a peculiar, irritating sound
gurgled up the stem. It was the air
trying to escape, I thought — I had put in
water, of course, so I emptied and refilled
it and again tried the rose. The effect
was no better and that strange, unpleas-
ant hissing grew more resentful still.
How queer it seemed! Maybe the vase
was porous in the bottom and the air
sucked in. Again I emptied and exam-
ined it thoroughly. The glaze was per-
fect and unbroken, but on the bottom I
discovered something I had not seen be-
fore— four characters which I knew at
once to be Egyptian, though at that time
T could not decipher them.

Lunch was just then announced and,
mechanically putting the rose again in the
vase, I went down, thinking that by the
time I returned the hissing would have
ceased. But it was not so. On my re-
turn, so loud and angry had it become, I

could hear it before opening the door,
and the strange uneasiness which the
sound produced was not lessened any
when I found the rose limp and withered
and all its bright color faded away.
There was something uncanny about it
all that I could not explain away, and it
was taking such hold on me I determined
to put it entirely out of my thoughts and,
to accomplish this more easily, I emptied
the vase and put it away out of sight.

I had many things to interest me that
winter — lectures, reading and the Culture
Society — and soon June was here and I
was taking my old trips to the park. All
that time Rameses had remained with
me, a perfectly proper and well mannered
cat, but so provokingly indifferent, self-
satisfied and abstracted that, for com-
pany, he might as well have been a man.
And so thinking some outings might do
him good and liven him up a bit. I oc-
casionally took him to the park too.
There, beneath the trees, with a book
and lunch for us both, what more could
heart desire ? But there was more.

There was growing into my heart such
an ungovernable, unquenchable covet-
ousness that I could enjoy nothing, till
finally it led me to break the law and
commit a misdemeanor — an offense for
which a young Greek was once thrown
into prison here and, unable to pay his
fine or understand the cause of his im-
prisonment, killed himself. But I was not
thrown into prison. Oh, no ! My lunch
basket, being the receiver of the stolen
goods, gave no evidence against me and
Rameses was as guilty and as pleased as
I — in fact, had it not been for his winn-
ings and eager looks I am sure I never
would have done it. But one night, as
we returned from the Park, the lunch
basket held a magnificent Egyptian lotus,
snatched from a pond near Horticultural
Hall! A great blue lotus, so perfect in
form and color it might have decked the
bosom of the Nile.

When I reached home I do not know
what it was that suggested the vase to
me, but I took it from the drawer where
it had lain so long, put water in it and
the lotus and stood off to note the effect.
It was a symphony of exquisite shading.
So perfectly did the tints harmonize that

/ was horrified to behold a ghostly hand protruding from the vase and beckoning in a menacing
i manner.

56

THE AVENGING VASE.

vase and flower seemed melting into one,
creating new tones of color as they blend-
ed. And, was it fancy, or did I hear the
rhythmical plash of water?

For hours I sat drinking in the beauty
and richness of those wondrous colors
and when I retired that night it was with
a feeling of peace, contentment and com-
pleteness never felt before. Having
been up late, I slept heavily and a vio-
lent storm had been raging for some time
when I was awakened by the creaking of
shutters and flapping of curtains, and
arose hastily to close the windows. I
shut the bed-room windows first and
started into the sitting-room. The door
had blown shut and, as I opened it to
enter, I seemed sucked in, in an instant,
as if into a maelstrom, and then as sud-
denly stopped. I lost my breath and put
out my hands to ward off something com-
ing near me — not invisible, certainly, for
the very air seemed pulsing with light,
and it was this luimnous ether rushing to
me. It brought no pain or hurt, but as it
came a cold, creeping wave of fear sub-
merged and drowned me. And yet I
did not lose my senses, but saw the room
before me.

The cat stood on the couch, on tiptoe
almost, in an attitude of intense expec-
tancy. His form rigid, his eyes wide
and trance-like, he seemed under hyp-
notic spell ; and, turning to find on what
his eyes were fixed, new shiverings of
terror chilled me as I beheld the vase ;
for it was as if a vase of ice had melted
into mist, expanding to a giant spectre,
shimmering and ethereal, with all its
outline and proportions perfect — a nebu-
lous wraith, it seemed quivering to dis-
solve. From out its flower-like top — now
a floating cloud wreath — something
waved and beckoned. Great Heavens !
It was a hand ! a ghostly, human hand,
with long, white, fluttering fingers, and
it was floating towards me — that severed,
spirit-hand, clutching at the tremulous,
elusive air — quivering nearer and nearer
till its icy touch was upon me, it clasped
my hand! What new horrors were to
come? In the same instant a lightning
bolt shot through the room, Rameses
gave a bound and one great cry and leap-

ed into that vaporous vase. In that in-
stant, too, I saw past lives and ages pass
before me, I read the inscription on the
vase and I was no more afraid.

After the lightning flash the air no
longer vibrated with that buoyant light in
which I, and the objects of the room,
had seemed to float ; and the perception
which noted how still and fixed things
had become revealed to me a new sense
for all was now in darkness. I turned
on the light. Everything had its proper
place and proportion — the cat on the
floor, the vase on the table — but the lotus
was not there and no subsequent search-
ings ever revealed any trace of it.

To tell what I saw in the vision I do
not deem advisable. In my own con-
sciousness alone are the proofs of its
verity, so I shall relate only what was
authenticated in a purely scientific way
and substantiated by the most material
of evidence. Rameses lay on the floor
with no apparent life, but I left him un-
disturbed for hours and when he awoke
to consciousness, his eyes — heretofore
mere slits aslant his sleepy face — were
wide, starry and expressive ; and from
that time dated, too, his lofty, fearless
mien, his majestic tread, and that in-
tangible something which commands an
indefinable respect from others, as well
as from myself. There is a gleam of
intelligence in an eye, either brute or hu-
man, which tells of things understood,
and from that day I have had a compan-
ion and a confidant. As I read aloud
now, Rameses no longer dozes at my
feet, and does not a nod of the head, a
widening of the eyes, bespeak the inter-
est of a silent listener? And when I say
things to him in an impressive, rhythmi-
cal way, I am not pronouncing an incan-
tation over him to prolong his life, as
the boarders believe — it is but to quicken
his intellect and aid him to unfold. And
for twenty years we have lived and
studied and remembered together, but
well for me and well for the cat that we
lived not in the days of the Salem witch-
craft !

A few clays after the remarkable ex-
perience of that night I took the vase to
an Egyptologist, Prof. Lawson, of the
University. For, notwithstanding the

LANNIE HAYNES MARTIN.

57

certainty of my own knowledge, there
was an insistent demand in my mind for
corroborating testimony. He admired
the vase and examined it carefully with
the greedy eyes of a collector, saying it
was of an unusual design and that Egyp-
tian faience was rare.

"In fact," said he, "if it were not from
the unmistakable Egyptian coloring, I
would pronounce it Persian and of a
comparatively recent period. But the
secret of these perfect blues perished
with the ancient Egyptians. We know
they came from an oxide of copper mixed
with the clay, but the process and pro-
portions have never been rediscovered.
The marks, however, are of little conse-
quence he continued ; "they are fragmen-
tary and could have a dozen interpre-
tations. They are probably the private
marks of the potter."

I told him of how I had gotten the
vase and of the hissing sound it made,
but never a word of the vision or the
metamorphosis wrought in Rameses.

Prof. Lawson went to Egypt that year
and had been gone about six months
when I received a cablegram reading
thus:

"What are the hieroglyphics on the
vase?"

I replied by post at 1 a month or so
later received the following letter :.
Cairo, Egypt,
March 12, 18 —
My Dear Miss Curtin: —

When I cabled you I had just returned
from the site of ancient Thebes where,
making excavation in a fallen temple,
I found a papyrus so old it almost crum-
bled into fragments when I unrolled it ;
but I have succeeded in piecing enough
together to make out the following story
which, beyond doubt, relates to your
vase :

Hakhamani, a powerful prince of Per-
sia, sought an alliance with Egypt, and,
for reasons of state, was given the Prin-
cess Amunartis in marriage ; but her ha-
tred of him was so great that she refused
to leave her father's house and return
with him to Persia. This angered him so
that, finding her one day on the bank of
the Nile with her beloved cat, he pushed
them both in the river and drowned them.

When the bodies were recovered, the
princess's arms were tightly clasped
round the cat and they were embalmed
together. But Hakhamani 's hatred and
revenge were uot sated. He stole to the
tomb, intending to destroy the mummies,
and had gotten the outer wrappings re-
moved from them when ihe priests dis-
covered him and he was compelled to
flee. But as he went he snatched the
body of the cat, and in so doing, severed
one of the hands of the princess which
was tightly grasping the cat and escaping
with them to a place of safety, he pound-
ed the hand and the mummy of the cat
into dust, mixed it with a potter's clay
that was near by and commissioned the
potter to make him a vase. Before doing
so, the potter learned of the sacrilege of
Hakhamani and, by aid of the priests,
imprinted on the vase, before it was
burned, some magical characters which
gave to it an occult power, and when a
Persian rose was put into it, it gave out
a hissing sound like an angry cat and
the rose withered away.

Hakhamani, fleeing in terror at the
sight of every cat, died a raving maniac,
besfore he could be executed for his
crime. And the vase was put in a temple,
lost and forgotten. There is a drawing of
the vase in the papyrus and a copy of
the characters which were on it and your
letter verifies what I had already sur-
mised, that they are identical with the
inscription on your vase. I am bringing
the papyrus with me and of course you
will let me have the vase for the Univer-
sity Museum.

Verv truly vours,

R." M. LAWSON.

On his return I allowed him to take
the vase, and formally bequeathed it to
the University in my will. But a few
months ago I changed that will and, get-
ting the vase again into my possession I
shattered it to fragments.

Centuries upon centuries have passed
since Hakhamani died of catfera in
Egypt. Who knows but in that time he
has thrice returned to earth and suffered
his punishment?

So I shattered the vase and ended the
curse !

ROMANCE OF A WHEAT FIELD

By FRANCES BEACH

)HE "Transcontinental Fly-
er" of the Northern Pa-
cific, was just leaving the
station of the thriving lit-
tle city of Jamestown,
North Dakota, and was
getting down to the steady pace
that would insure its arrival in St.
Paul in the early morning. The
last long lances of light from the
setting sun, cast an additional shimmer
of gold over the yellow stubble of the
vast wheat fields that clung so closely to
the rails, on either side of the way. Here
and there upon the wide horizon could
be seen threshing outfits, outlined against
the sky, their long grey plumes of smoke,
touched by the alchemy of the dying sun,
floated away like fairy feathers tinted
with a thousand dyes.

Color ran riot. The late-blooming as-
ters that had sprung up after the passing
of the reapers, added the touch of purple ;
and the miles slipped away like beads
from a strand of gold studded here and
there with amethysts ; and to the tired
eyes of the passengers, the royal colors
seemed to circle around, in an endless
chain of purple and gold, gold and pur-
ple— purple and gold.

A party of young girls, in one of the
Pullman coaches, were making them-
selves as merry as possible, under the de-
pressing conditions of the long journey,
and the remembrance of the tearful fare-
wells that had been spoken as they left
their homes and friends in the city of
Butte, Montana. They were on their
way to an Eastern finishing school, and
each girl was leaving behind her a very
rich father, whose business in life was
to manage "Amalgamated Copper" — gold
and silver mines, or the more exciting
pursuit of getting elected to the Senate
of the United States.

The three girls had made the trip to
New York many times with their par-
ents, but on this occasion they had gain-
ed reluctant consent to their making

the journey alone, without anyone to
chaperone them. "Chaperones were a
great bother always," said they. "Be-
sides, what's the use?" They knew ev-
ery mile of the way, and nothing could
happen to them that a chaperone could
hinder ; and then they would be "chaper-
oned to death" as soon as they reached
"Madam Vs." So here they were, sate
and happy, with the journey half done,
and nothing had happened yet.

Of the three girls, Agnes, whose fa-
ther had political aspirations, was the
prettiest, but her golden head was not
filled to overflowing with thoughts of
higher education ; and her only ambition
in life seemed to be to wear pretty dress-
es, have plenty of beaux, and to please
her father, whose constant companion
she had been, since the death of her mo-
ther, many years before she could re-
member. Julia was very charming, too.
but she was of a more intellectual type,
and had dreamed sometimes of a college
course. Her brown eyes would fill with
tears of disappointment when she re-
membered the social niche she was ex-
pected to fill when she should return to
the gay Western city, where the "God or
Gold" and the "Goddess of Fashion"
would rule the destinies of them all.
Ruth, the youngest of the trio, was not
at all good looking, but was full of fun.
and, considering that she was the spoiled
daughter of a multi-millionaire, she was
quite well mannered.

They were all tired now. The latest
of the magazines had been read ; the new
books had failed to interest ; the boxes of
candy had all been emptied, and, just at
that moment, nothing seemed worth
while. Agnes and Julia were sitting to-
gether, while Ruth occupied a seat alone.
just across the aisle from the others.
The sun was down at last, and all the air
was full of soft, mysterious gloaming,
and the night breeze sprang up and blew
in at the open window, very refreshing

ROMANCE OF A WHEAT FIELD.

59

after the heat and dust of the September
day.

"Say, girls," said Ruth, "aren't you
glad we didn't have to have anybody
come with us? I think it is just fine to
be all by ourselves, and do just as we
please, don't you?"

"O, it is all right, so far," said Julia,
"and if you behave as well as you have
done, I think we'll arrive in safety."

"But I do wish we'd get out of these
endless wheat fields!'' exclaimed Ruth.
"They get on my nerves! I just hate a
prairie and I don't believe I'll ever want
to even hear of wheat fields again. I'm
so tired of this everlasting monotony !
Give me the mountains, every time! I'm
glad we're going to a school on the Hud-
son, because there we will have some-
thing that looks like a mountain, even if
it isn't as high as our own Rockies. Pa-
pa said he gave orders that my room
must be one that had a view of the Cats-
kills from the windows."

"What time is it, Agnes?" continued
the irrepressible Ruth.

"Time little girls were in bed, I think.
What is the reason you don't look at your
own watch?" said Agnes.

"I'm too lazy, I guess," answered
Ruth, with a yawn.

"I don't see why you don't like the
prairie and wheat fields," said Julia who
was seated next the window, and had
been watching the moving pictures with
unflagging interest. "You are not much
like Ruth of old. She found her for-
tune in a wheat field. Perhaps you'll be
glad enough, sometime, to live on one of
these great wheat farms ; you might
marry a wheat farmer, who knows?"

"Not on your life!" cried Ruth, who
loved to drop into slang when her very
aristocratic mother was not in the audi-
ence. "I'll resign any possible claim to
you, Julia. No wheat farm in mine,
thank you. I don't even like wheat when
I meet it shredded at the breakfast ta-
ble."

A few minutes later, Julia asked :
"Has either of you girls a penknife
handy? I've broken my pencil and I
want to sharpen it so as to make a mem-
orandum of that generous offer of
Ruth's."

"I have one," said Ruth, "here in my
pceketbook. Here, catch it!" and suit-
ing the action with the words, she threw
it towards Julia.

Alas, for the unreliability of a girl's
aim ! Ruth had thrown "not wisely, bin,
too well," for the pocketbook had gone
sailing right out of the open window
and into the despised wheat field. Con-
sternation reigned in that car for the
next few minutes. Everybody talked at
once. The sympathetic — the "I told you
so's," and all the rest, trying to pacify
poor Ruth, who by this time was almost
too stunned to realize that she was hurry-
ing forward to St. Paul, sans tickets and
checks, sans money, sans everything!
Everything was gone in that precious lit-
tle pocketbook !

Of course, the conductor was consol-
ing as he could be. He would send a
telegram to her father at the first stop
and the money could be waiting for her
at St. Paul. There seemed nothing else
that could be done, so the three girls went
sorrowfully to their berths, each one
wishing in her heart that she had con-
sented to have "Papa" come along; and
the mighty train thundered on, bearing
them to the end of the first stage of their
journey.

Things looked brighter next morning,
and when the three young travelers had
breakfasted, and Ruth had received a
consoling dispatch from "Papa," and
also received a goodly sum of money
which had awaited her order, another
ticket was purchased to replace the lost
one and they went on their eastward
way rejoicing. Youth is ever light-
hearted, so the clouds of the night were
soon forgotten in the beauties of the new
day. The remainder of the long journey
was accomplished without further mis-
hap, and the end of the week saw them
safely sheltered under the ample protec-
tion of Madam V.

Rut now a new dilemma awaited them.
Where were Ruth's trunks ? In that
mountain baggage who could claim them
without those mystic pieces of paste-
board which are an "open sesame" to a!l
baggageroom doors? The conductor of

6o

ROMANCE OF A WHEAT FIELD.

the N. P. train had been very hopeful
that the purse would be found, and tne
trunk reclaimed. He was at their serv-
ice, to do anything and everything in
his power to aid them in their search ;
but week after week rolled away, and no
news ever came from the lost pocket-
book. By dint of much telegraphing, and
the help of many influential railroad
friends, Ruth at last received her trunks
but in the meantime, numberless shop-
ping trips to New York City had to be
made to replenish the depleted wardrobe.
When the unpacking of the long-lost
trunk was done at last, and the pretty
fluffy summer dresses had been displayed
and duly admired by her schoolmates,
Ruth put them away again with a little
sigh of regret, for the snow was already
powdering the lawn, and soon she would
need nothing so much as her warm fur-
trimmed garments in which she had so
often braved the rigors of her native cli-
mate. But then, "summer will come
again," and she turned away, humming
the refrain of a new song she had been
learning :

"Sigh not, for birds, love, will always
come again ;

Winter will pass, love, the birds will
come again."

The warm sunshine of early spring
was waking the plains of North Dakota
from their long sleep. Winter was in-
deed past, and the birds had "come
again." The Hon. John Stanley brought
his horses to a sudden stop, and got down
from his riding plow to rest awhile from
his unwonted labor. He was a Harvard
man, also a member-elect of Congress ;
but now turned farmer for the love of
novelty. A tract of several hundred
acres had come to him by inheritance,
and he was now living over again the
scenes of his boyhood, when the west
was young, and he, a tiny toddler, by his
father's side.

The long furrows ran close to, and
parallel with the tracks of the Northern
Pacific Railroad, and as he looked to-
ward the west he could see where the
shining rails seemed to meet at the van-
ishing point, where his dreams of youth

seemed to mingle and fade away. The
tramp of his horses' feet brought him
back to the realities, and looking down,
he saw at his feet a curious looking ob-
ject. Stooping down, he picked up'the
long-lost pocketbook, whose stout leather
covers had defied the rigor of a Dakota
winter, and which upon opening he
found still contained intact, money, tick-
ets and checks ; but, better still, there
were Ruth's visiting cards with her home
address, and now another card : Miss
Julia Jarvis, also of Butte, Montana.
"Why, good Lord!" exclaimed the Hon.
John. "That must be the daughter of
Senator Jarvis, who used to tell me that
he had a lovely little girl that he'd like to
introduce to me ; but I never expected to
have her card presented to me right in
the middle of a Dakota wheat field !"
"It is an ill wind that blows nobody any
good," and although some little Ruth
seems to have been among the gleaners
last year, and lost her pocketbook, 1
shall reap my full reward, perhaps, for
finding it. I think I'll take the train for
the "Golden West" to-night, and find out
what good fortune awaits me at the end
of the shining rails. Somebody else can
do the plowing this time."

The Hon. John Stanley was received
with great pleasure by his friends, old
and new, in the gay Western city, and
the three girls in their faraway school-
room longed for the time to come when
they should meet the "owner of the
field." And so it happened, that just be-
fore the close of the school year, and on
the eve of their departure on their home-
ward journey, the following telegram
was received :

"Meet me at the Ryan House in St.
Paul, June ioth. The Hon. John will
be with me, as he is anxious to meet all
of you girls."

(Signed.) "Papa."

One year later there was a grand wed-
ding in the Jarvis home, when Julia be-
came the wife of the Hon. John Stanley.
Agnes was one of the beautiful brides-
maids, but Ruth felt that she deserved
her place as "Maid of Honor" since she
had been the innocent cause of all the
happiness that had resulted from this
"Romance of a Wheatfield."

BETSY'S TRANSFORMATION

A CHRISTMAS STORY

By PERCY T. CARNES

T was late in October. The
harvest was past, the sum-
mer ended. Already, "the
frost was on the pumpkin,
and the fodder in the
shock." For some time,
perhaps three weeks or more, the sky had
been perfectly cloudless, with its blue
only a little dulled around the edges
where it came close to the ground and
the dust had settled on it. There was a
haziness on the upper slopes that might
have been the result of the bonfires of
leaves and "bresh" the lads and lassies
had been having evenings after supper.

The season had been most propitious
for gatherings in the great harvest of
winier apples, nuts, persimmons and
grapes. Out in the fields were rusty-
colored pyramids, each with a pale-gold
heap of corn beside it, and the earth be-
tween was dotted with orange blobs that
promised pumpkin-pie for Thanksgiving.

But despite this picture of peace and
plenty, there could be heard threats and
murmurings that caused the blood of the
law-abiding to run chill and the timid
ones to quake with fear.

Direful, blood-curdling threats were
openly made, and the populace well knew
they would be executed to the extent of
the ability of those who made them.

Much has been written of the ways
and doing of mountaineers of North
Carolina, eastern Tennessee and north-
eastern Georgia, yet any person at all
familiar with the lives of the inhabitants
of that romantic region cannot but feel
that the half has not been told.

Loyal to a degree that holds life worth
nothing if a friend can be served, an ene-
my punished or a traitor put to death,
the mountaineer is typical of a state of
existence the world has long outgrown.

The average man of more sedate tem-
perament and cooler blood leaves the

avenging of his wrongs to courts of
law and the judgment of his fellows,
but in the mountains each man is a court
of law unto himself, and is not satisfied
with the slow methods of justice with
which more progressive communities are
conversant.

It has been a matter of monumental
difficulty to impress upon these people
that there is wrong in the making of
"moonshine" whisky. To them, the
product of the corn they grow and of
the apples they pick from their own or-
chards is theirs, whether it is made into
"dodgers" and pies, or the liqiud of the
worm and still. The efforts of the
"rev'nooers" to put a stop to illicit dis-
tilling of liquors are not looked upon
with favor, and conflicts with the officers
of the law are frequent.

"The best looking gal in the moun-
tains ! By the eternal, she shan't be sent
up! thundered grizzly old Ike Hanks.
And he voiced the sentiment of the de-
termined-looking group of homely men
which surrounded him.

Betsy Simmons, "Queen of the Moon-
shiners," was at that moment languish-
ing in the lonesome pail at Monteagle,
the high-up little mountain town which
is the county-seat of Johnson, one of the
smallest and most isolated of the Georgia
counties. What to do with Betsy was
the problem puzzling the authorities.

Though only twenty-two, Betsy was
as daring and well versed a woman, both
in the ways of making whisky and of
selling it, as one could find in that wild
country, even in a full day's ride. She
was as pretty as she was adroit and dar-
ing, with bright, sparkling eyes, rosy,
well-filled cheeks, wavy, nut-brown hair,
and a merry, rippling laughter innocent
of guile.

Her education, however, was not limit-

PERCY T. CARNES.

63

ed to the ways and means of "moonshin-
ing." While not a college graduate,
Betsy was by no means an illiterate wo-
man. Necessarily, her schooling had
been limited to a degree, but when not
engaged in helping to make or sell whis-
ky, she remained quietly at home, perus-
ing such books as she was able to pro-
cure.

As a seller of contraband whisky, she
had no equal. Even the older moon-
shiners had long looked up to her and in
their rude way idolized the plucky girl,
who had been bred all her life to think
the selling of whisky was an act of the
very best sort, and that the ."rev'nooers"
were a race of people who deserved only
death and who were sent out as oppress- '
ors of the people. Such is the faith
which was literally the back-bone of
Betsy's point of view, and that of her
moonshiner companions, who make corn
whisky and apple brandy in the shaded
and well-hidden hollows in the moun-
tains, through which run streams whose
waters are always just cool enough to
give distillery worms the right touch.

Betsy had year by year become more
and more daring and more beautiful. A
few months before the opening of this
story she became extremely bold in her
sales of whisky, going to and from the
stills, sometimes with male companions,
but more frequently alone. Finally the
state authorities decided it was time to
stop her, so they sent three deputy mar-
shals for her. The deputies had the
good fortune to find her, on foot, and
very near the Tennessee line, which she
knew perfectly well.

When she saw the three deputies com-
ing, she knew they were not her friends,
and made a bold dash for the line. As a
sprinter she was a success, and her run-
ning was like that of the Grecian girls
who competed in the ancient Olympian
games. The deputies did not stop to ad-
mire, however, but gave chase and dash-
ed across the state line, coming up with
and taking hold of the stout and charm-
ing Betsy about a hundred yards over
in Tennessee.

The girl was nearly out of breath
from the run, but had voice enough left

to give a signal, which brought out of
the thick bushes nearby five tough-look-
ing moonshiners, any one of whom was
ready and willing to die for his goddess
any time. She had a good-sized revol-
ver slung about her waist, and very
poorly concealed by a checked apron ;
but her moonshine friends made no con-
cealment whatever of the pistols which
they had in hand, and while they fingered
these, they parleyed with the detaining
deputies, letting them understand that
they were willing to pay cash for Bets ''s
appearance in "co't," and that they were
"willing to put up the greenbacks if she
could be sot free now an' 'pear at Mont-,
eagle in ten days."

The deputies thought it wise to tem-
porize, and decided to take the cash,
which the moonshiners gallantly put up.
Betsy retired with her friends, lookiner
back archly at the officers, her charming
eyes sparkling with defiance and the
roses in her cheeks deepening until they
were like peonies. Her face was framed
in a pink sunbonnet of the type which is
worn on week days by all the mountain
girls.

Betsy did not let her daring and her
adventures end with her capture. The
very next day her moonshine friends
showed up with two hundred dollars.
There was a "big meetin' " not far away
and it was thought it would be a good
time to buy an extra lot of whisky and
rush their sales. So it came about that
during the next week Betsy sold nine
barrels of the stuff, some of it in John-
ston county, some in Polk, and some over
the line in Tennessee.

She showed up at Monteagle at the
appointed time, escorted by a party of
her moonshiner friends.

The attention of the presiding judge
of the superior court was- directed to-
ward her, and he became stern and un-
relenting when he learned of the extent
of her work and the damage she was
doing in parts of two states, in her open
violation of law. She must have felt in
the very air that something was wrong,
for when the judge took his seat that af-
ternoon and ordered the girl brought
into court, she failed to materialize.

M

BETSY'S TRANSFORMATION.

The judge issued a bench warrant for
her, and she was found at the home of
a moonshiner not far from the little
town, and brought back for trial. The
judge decided to make an example of the
bold young creature by refusing her bond
and committing her to jail until she
could be taken before the federal authori-
ties at Marietta in December.

A young and rapidly rising attorney
was employed by her friends to " 'tend to
Betsy's case." He advised her support-
ers to quietly disperse to their homes,
"lay low" and await developments. That
the girl would be released by the federal
authorities, he hadn't a doubt, although
he realized the extent of her guilt.

He visited the jail daily, plied the
charming Betsy with questions relative
to her family and home life and devoted
several hours every night to preparation
for what promised to be the most excit-
ing case of his brief but brilliant career.

It was a clear, frosty morning in late
December when the fair young prisoner,
escorted by the sheriff and a matron of
honor, passed through the cell door,
along the dark corridor and into the
open court yard, where her attorney was
perpared for the vision of womanly love-
liness that came suddenly into the sun-
light, and only smiled as he looked there-
on. But the rough mountaineers stood
speechless, gazing upon the neatly-attired
and blushing young creature with en-
raptured eyes and fast-beating hearts.
Could this be Betsy? their Betsy, "Queen
of the Moonshiners ?" Yes, it could be
none other; and yet, what a transforma-
tion !

Her cheeks were a shade paler than
when they last saw her, but she was even
more beautiful than ever. Her "home-
spun" dress had been discarded for a
trim, tailor-made suit of expensive stuff,
her erstwhile loosely flowing hair had
been skillfully arranged in a most at-
tractive manner, upon which was perch-
ed a stylish and becoming hat. Who was
responsible for this pleasing transform-
ation? This unasked question found an-
swer in the fast-coloring face of the Hon-
orable "Pat" Myers, attorney-at-law, as
the moonshiners involuntarily directed
their grateful, questioning eyes upon him.

"Now, men," cautioned the lawyer,
"you are going to Marietta to testify in
Miss Simmons' behalf. Her chances for
freedom will depend no more on my ef-
forts than on your behavior. I simply
ask that you keep sober and orderly, tes-
tify truthfully and hold your tongues
and temper. Miss Simmons is guilty of
the charges against her, but you do as
I say and she will return home with us
a free woman."

To this counsel the men agreed and
the party set out for the little railway
station, followed by a motley crowd of
men and boys, who went to "see them
off."

Betsy Simmons' fame had preceded
her to Marietta, her adventures, capture
and forth-coming trial having been given
wide publicity through the papers. Hence
the day set for her trial witnessed the
assembling of a multitude of men, wo-
men and children in the federal court
room.

"Mr. Clerk, call the next case on
docket;" thus spake the presiding judge.

"The State of Georgia and the United
States vs. Betsy Simmons. Charge : The
manufacture and sale of contraband
whisky," read the clerk.

"Is the defendant ready for trial ?"

"We are ready, your honor," replied
attorney Myers.

"Mr. Sheriff, bring the defendant into
cout."

All eyes were directed toward a door
leading into an ante-chamber, through
which the sheriff passed. Presently the
door swung open again and the sheriff,
accompanied by the fair and blushing
prisoner, and followed by six rough,
determined looking mountaineers, filed
solemnly into the court room.

The prisoner took her seat beside her
lawyer. The six mountaineers, each with
several "concealed," dangerous looking
weapons projecting conspicuously and
menacingly from his pockets, were sworn
by the clerk and told to retire until
called.

"Miss Simmons," the judge's voice
was modulated by kindness, "you are
charged with violating both the state and
federal laws in the illicit manufacture

PERCY T. CARNES.

65

and sale Of spiritous liquors. Are you
ready for trial ?"

"Yes, sir; I am.''

"You have employed counsel, I think?"

"My friends have, for me."

"Do vou wish additional legal serv-
ice?"

"No, sir."

"Then we will proceed to trial."

One by one the mountaineers were
called into court. To the surprise of
all, both court and spectators, each wit-
ness testified to the guilt of the prisoner.
But, interwoven with the testimony, was
a pathetic appeal for the girl's release.
Each witness testified to her virtue and
many other noble traits of character, and
swore that she was the sole support and
comfort of her aged and decrepit mother.

The witnesses for the prosecution
were questioned but briefly, as the guilt
of the defendant had been clearly estab-
lished by her own witnesses.

Next came the pleadings by the coun-
sels. The prosecuting attorney spoke
briefly of the clearly established guilt of
the prisoner and appealed feebly for a
strict and just punishment. He hoped
the court would not be influenced by
sentiment, but would "see the imperative
necessity of upholding the majesty of
the law."

When the counsel for the defense arose
to make his plea, there was a shuffling
of feet and shifting of positions, caused
by the anxiety of every spectator to see
as well as hear. The six mountaineers
pushed boldly to the front and were given
seats in the jury box.

"Your Honor," said the counsel for
the defense in clear, distinct tones ; "tech-
nically speaking, the defendant is guilty
of the charge for which she is being
tried. Her own witnesses have testified
to this fact. We have not attempted to
disprove her guilt. She is a creature of
environment. Back yonder in the caves
of those dark-blue mountains, her father
and her father's father made whisky be-
fore she was born. For generations
back those simple people have engaged
in this business, and until comparatively
recently, no one has dared molest them,
or pointed out to them a better way.

"In a little cabin home, nestling among

the pines and cedars at the base of a
mountain, an old, blind woman sits in
her loneliness to-day, anxiously awaiting
news from her darling child. That dear
old woman is the mother of this perse-
cuted child of circumstances, Betsy Sim-
mons."

Here the lawyer waxed warmly elo-
quent and pathetic. He expatiated at
great length on the many really lovable
qualities of the defendant ; the years of
schooling in crime the children of the
mountains received as a heritage from
their fathers ; their lack of opportunities
for mental and spiritual development,
and their innocence of intended trans-
gression of law.

"To-morrow, your honor," the lawyer
said in closing his argument ; "to-mor-
row celebrates one of the greatest, if not
the greatest events the world has ever
known. It celebrates the birth of the
Prince of Peace. To-morrow the hearts
of many aged and lonely fathers and
mothers will be made glad at the re-
turn of long absent children ; children
who have been absent a' long time from
the homes of their childhood will return
to the old roof-tree to celebrate the glad
Christmas-tide with loved ones at home.
Oh, the unutterable sadness of the
thought that one unfortunate creature of
circumstances, a being who has already
caught a glimpse of the more excellent
way and expressed a determination to
walk therein, should be ruthlessly torn
from her aged mother's embrace and
cast into a dark and ill-smelling dungeon !
And for what? Committing an offense
far less criminal than that has placed
men on the judicial bench and sent others
to the congress of the United States !

"A sweet thought full of hope comes
from the demonstration that Jesus, the
Prince of Peace, came into this world
to show us the Father's love. Love will
never let what is loved and lovable die
if it can have its will. He who loves a
flower or a singing bird, is saddened if
it dies. When we look up to the great
God, and know as we see his face that
we are gazing upon the depths of an un-
utterable love, then there comes to us the
unfaltering conviction that all our judg-

66

BETSY'S TRANSFORMATION.

ments should be tempered with love and
mercy.

"It is not the intention of the law to
break hearts and crush lives. You sit in
judgment on this case, and I am sure
your judgment will be righteous. As the
omnipotent Father is not deaf to his
children's cry, and will not thrust back
the hands extended in supplication, even
so you, your honor, will deal gently
with this fair young creature, who sup-
plicates for mercy at your throne of grace.
Permit her to return to her aged mother
and mountain home, and you will have
dowered her with eternal peace. May
the spirit of the Prince of Peace be
upon you."

A hush, deep, prolonged and eloquent
pervaded the courtroom. The judge
bowed his head as if in silent prayer.
After a few moments he raised his head
and looked over his desk into the face
of the anxious prisoner.

"Miss Simmons, will you please step
nearer the bar?"

As the fair young woman arose and
tremblingly walked to the judge's desk,
the six mountaineers in the jury box in-
voluntarily arose and thrust their hands
into their pockets. They were signalled
to their seats by Miss Simmons' attor-

ney. The crowd, ignorant of this move-
ment, looked at the judge and prisoner,
breathlessly' awaiting the verdict.
"> "Miss Simmons," the very tone of the
judge's voice inspired hope ; "Are you
tired of sinning against the laws of the
government and being pursued by officers
of the law?"

"Yes, sir," was the tearful response.

"Do you realize that there is a better
and more excellent way to live ?"

"I do."

"How will you spend to-morrow if re-
leased from custody?"

"I shall devote the greater part of the
day to preparing a Christmas dinner
for my husband and mother."

"Your husband?" exclaimed the judge.
"You have no husband !"

Betsy blushed and averted her gaze
as she murmured, "No; but to-morrow
at seven o'clock we will go directly from
the train to Parson Tatum's and be
married."

"To whom are you to be married ?"

"To the honorable Patrick Myers,
your honor," the prisoner proudly re-
plied.

"Then go, and may heaven bless you,"
the judge said fervently, amid the deaf-
ening- applause of the multitude.

BY FIRE

The Relenting of a Fair Girl's Father and the Cause

By MILFORD W. FOSHAY

LAYTON BOYER, young
county superintendent of
schools, and Virginia, sat
by the window of the cozy
farm house enjoying the
prairie breeze, when the
sound of galloping horse was heard and,
a moment later, Mr. Moore threw him-
self from the saddle and stepped into the
room. His eyes flashed at the sight of
the visitor.

"Boyer," he said, in a harsh voice, "if
you had as much sense as a superinten-
dent ought to have, you would know that
you are not welcome here. Virgie is of
age and I have nothing to say about
what she does; but as for you, I'll kick
you off the premises the next time I find
you here."

Standing at his full height of six feet,
Clayton looked coolly down on the small,
angry man in front of him. A low
"Please, Clayton," reached his ear, and
he turned with a swift, reassuring smile
to Virginia, then faced Mr. Moore
again. The latter moved a little uneasily,
and blurted out:

"Oh, I suppose you think I can't do
that ! Well, I've got something here
that can," and he drew a gun from his
pocket.

"You will have no occasion to use it,"
Boyer said quietly. "I shall leave, but
not through fear."

He took Virginia's hand for a mo-
ment, at which the father muttered im-
patiently, then left the house to mount
his horse and ride the ten miles to town.
He did not look back, but his eyes told
Virginia that he would see her again.

On Tuesday of the following week, a
tramped called at Mr. Moore's and asked
for something to eat. He had been fol-
lowing the little creek that ran less than
a quarter of a mile north of the house,
but out of sight behind the knolls, mak-

ing his way to the railroad line. Such a
caller was rare and Virginia was ready
to give him food, when her father inter-
fered and ordered him to leave the place.
He obeyed, with a look on his face that
made Virginia uneasy ; but her father
laughed at her fears and would not lis-
ten to her protest, saying that if the man
were willing to work, he would not need
to beg from industrious people.

This occurred about 12 o'clock. A lit-
tle after one, Mr. Moore spliced two
ladders and mounted to a gable window
that had become loose and annoyed them
with its rattling. He was intently at
work when the wind, which had been
blowing from the south, turned and
came violently from the north with sud-
denness. By the time the window was
repaired a gale was in progress, and he
began to descend. When half way down
a fierce gust caught him and whirled the
ladder to one side, breaking the splice,
and he fell heavily to the ground. At-
tempting to rise, he found that his side
was injured, and he was obliged to call
for his daughter, with whose help he was
able to get into the house and lie down.
As soon as he was made comfortable and
their attention slightly relaxed, both de-
tected the odor of smoke. Virginia look-
ed out of the window and noticed a puff
of smoke followed by a jet of flame on
the knoll north of the house. If she
could have seen beyond it, she would
have observed the tramp of the morning
running along the edge of the creek, has-
tening to the northward.

"The prairie is on fire!" she exclaim-
ed, in a startled voice.

Her father sprang up, but with a
groan he sank back in a dead faint. His
right shoulder and thigh were severely
sprained, useless. In a few seconds Vir-
ginia realized that, with the gale which
was blowing, she and her father must
hasten for their lives. But what could

68

BY FIRE.

she do with him ? Running- to the barn
she brought a horse to the door, thinking
to be able to lift him on it and then lead
it away from the flame. With desperate
haste she drew him to the threshold,
but the fire by this time had come so
near that the horse took fright, and, just
as Virginia reached the doorway with
her burden, it broke loose and galloped
off before the wind. With a cry of de-
spair she turned to the north and saw
the fire already at the outbuildings. . Ut-
terly dismayed, she stood looking at its
destructive work.

Superintendent Boyer, on his way to
visit a school northwest of the county
seat, hoping to see Virginia for a few
minutes, rode out of his way and came
in sight of Mr. Moore's house. He saw
the fire and urged his horse forward.

As he drew near, he could see the fire
leap to the corner of the house in the
door of which Virginia stood. She heard
the hoof beats, and turned with an ex-
clamation of joy. Drawing in the horse,
Clayton threw himself off while it was
yet in motion and bounded to her side,
keeping the bridle rein in the hollow of
his arm.

The few seconds spent in these move-
ments sufficed to bring the flames all
about them, and the horse was wrench-
ing violently backward by the time he
had lifted Virginia to the saddle.

"Oh, save father!" she pleaded.

It was perilous to attempt, but he
could not resist her voice. With one
hand holding the rein, he managed to
seize Mr. Moore's foot with the other
and pull him out through the now blaz-
ing grass beyond the circle of fire. His
coat was burning, but he smothered it
out and was able to lift the light body
back of the saddle. This rough treat-
ment roused him from the faint, and he
secured a hold with his uninjured hand.
As he did so the wind swirled the flames
around them and the horse sprang aside,
jerking the rein from Boyer's grasp.
With his head high in air, the frightened
beast fled.

The wrench that freed the rein fron
Clayton's hand carried him several feet
ahead of the fire, and he was taken still

farther by the spring he made to regain
his hold; but by the time he saw the
horse with its double burden galloping
to the south, it had again reached his
side and he was obliged to think of his
own safety. The creek curved to the
south and west and he dashed in that
direction, but the tongues of flame shot
ahead with fiercer speed than his, and
his clothing was soon on fire and his
eyes blinded by the heat and smoke.
Catching a glimpse of the water, he cov-
ered his face with his hat and made a
desperate struggle onward. It seemed to
him an age before he splashed into the
stream, with hands and eyebrows scorch-
ed, clothing ablaze and throat smarting
with the dreadful heat. A plunge be-
neath the surface extinguished the flame
and cooled his head, so that he was able
to wade across and walk out on the other
side.

Exhausted, he seated himself on the
bank and watched Mr. Moore's build-
ings burn, while the fire swept on south-
ward to the edge of the creek. This
would stop its progress, but where were
Virginia and her father? Tortured with
the thought that they may have been
overtaken by the fire, he almost hated
the strength and agility, which, as an
athlete, he was usually proud of, for now
they had served to save himself only,
while the one he loved far better may
have perished.

He was roused from these thoughts by
the sound of steps, and looking up he
saw Virginia and her father at hand,
safely seated on his horse. With an ex-
clamation of relief he sprang to their
side. Mr. Moore's face showed the agony
of severe pain, and Clayton gently lift-
ed him down and placed him carefully
on the soft grass.

"Boyer," he said, and his voice was so
changed that Clayton scarcely recog-
nized it, "I've lost a few buildings by
this fire, but by the same means I have
gained a knowledge of my own charac-
ter that will make a different man of me.
I hope, too — " and his voice broke, while
in his weakness, an unwonted tear stole
from the eyes he again closed — "I hope
I have gained a son,"

WHEN CHRIST WAS BORN

By DR. J. S. KIRTLEY

T was the most wonderful
thing that had ever taken
place on earth and there
has been nothing like it
since. "His name shall
be called wonderful,"
wrote a man concerning Him, seven hun-
dred years before, and He, Himself, was
far more wonderful than His name.

He had already been ruling the centur-
ies and now He was to change the un-
folding future. He had gotten people
to expecting Him, talking about Him. A
nation had been formed to keep that ex-
pectation in an ardent glow and it had
been organized into their very life. He
had opened and trained the vision of
not a few till they could see over the
hilltops of the years to the day of his
birth. Through that vision they found
their vocation, and became faithspeakers
for the righteous God and faithtellers of
the perfect One who was to come.

That nation
was to make
preparation to
receive him,
by keeping
the people
watching and
ready and
worthy. An-
other great
nation was
preparing for
Him by con-
serving hu-
man wisdom,
so as to ap-
preciate Him
the more and
learn the in-
compa r a bl e
wisdom He
brought from
the skies. And
still another
nation had
been develop-

ing human power, only to find how weak
men were to do right and that the child
is the verv embodiment of the power of
God.

The nation that was appointed to re-
ceive him had been bathed in heaven's
light and many luminous and lofty souls
showed the qualities that he possessed.
That nation had been placed in the best
land on earth and he was the power
determining it. On his account they were
given a home, in the pathway of the
nations, where they could feel the pulse-
beat of humanity, a home that for va-
riety of scenery and climate and pro-
ductiveness was not equalled elsewhere
on earth. A world wide expectation,
acute in some, faint in others, was await-
ing him. He was the talk* of the nation
for centuries before his birth. In his in-
terest the events of history had been con-
trolled. Indeed his name did deserve
to be Wonderful, for the age-long

The Nativity.

70

WHEN CHRIST WAS BORN.

preparations made for his coming.

How wonderful was He in the recog-
nition which earth and heaven gave to
His advent. He had His hand of power
upon the unseen, for an angel from out
the skies sang the aria that sent a thrill
through the heavenly ranks and brought
out a chorusing support to His sublime
solo. Noble and aspiring souls in dis-
tant and unfavored lands felt the advent
into human life of an unequalled person
who seemed to touch the chords of life
till they rang out a response. They felt
life reinforced and augmented from the
eternal sources of vitality and purity, till
they were eager to kneel and worship
at His cradle and enrich Him with all
the symbols of worth and wealth and
worship. The starry heavens sent a
shining escort to guide the search of the
reverent wise men to the place where
the wonderful child was born.

What wonderful arrangements had
been made for letting the rest of the
world know about Him. There were
Jewish people living all over the world
who were in an expectant mood and
would quickly get the news from those
who went up to Jerusalem to the annual
feasts. Thus it would be scattered like
fire. The cruel captivities and the
mournful migrations were proving a dis-
guised blessing to all the world. Prose-
lytes from Romans and Greeks were also
scattered among them, ready, with a pre-
pared hospitality, for the news of one
who should save the people from their
sins. They had sought relief from the
debaucheries and darkness and despair of
false religions in the purity and sympathy
of Israel's faith and hope. Here was a
foothold for that wonderful child pre-
pared for Him among the heathen who
had been promised Him for an inherit-
ance. Houses of worship had already
been built in all the great cities so that
the people could assemble and hear of
Him and worship Him. Centuries be-
fore the exiles from their native land
had built synagogues, or gathering places
where they could enjoy fellowship with
each other, hear the law and the pro-
phets read and expounded, and sing to-
gether the songs of Zion. Meeting houses
were ready for His message. A beau-

tiful and well-nigh perfect language was
spoken among Jews and Greeks and Ro-
mans and many of the other races, in
addition to their own native tongues.
The story could be told quickly and clear-
ly. Three hundred years before, when
Alexander conquered Asia and Africa,
he left that language among the con-
quered nations and it was a rare treas-
ure, almost a recompense for captivity.
Alexander, who sighed for more world's
to conquer, was putting an instrument
in the hands of our Christ, which would
assist Him in conquering the world for
righteousness and truth and love. High-
ways of travel had been built on His ac-
count. In running out her great rock
roads from the "Golden Milestone," into
all her outlying provinces — the most per-
fect system of roads ever constructed
prior to t'he modern railroad era — Rome's
purpose was to keep her iron hand upon
her subjects, but God's purpose was that
the swift messenger might have an open
way to the world's centers, as they car-
ried news of the new King of men. God
had also brought about a lull of peace,
over the civilized world, a fit time for
the coming of the Prince of Peace. The
mood of Rome, the world's mistress, was
liberal and pacific just then. She was
patronizing all religions and giving free-
dom of conscience to all people. The
tellers of the story could claim their right
to speak. It was the "psychological mo-
ment" of all history and the influence of
that wonderful child had brought it
about. Caesar needed money and he
ordered a census, preliminary to levying
a tax. The census required an enroll-
ment of the Jews in their ancestral homes,
and Joseph and Mary went from Naza-
reth, eighty miles south to register at
P>ethlehem. The unseen hand of God
was guiding the imperial pen that wrote
the decree and was bringing about the
fulfillment of purposes and promises and
prophecies.

The changes He had wrought on the
ages, since that advent day, justify the
name the prophet gave Him. Whenever
men have surrendered themselves to His
wishes for them, they have had a longing
to be like Him. There has been witnessed
a secondary wonder, people reproducing

DR. J. S. K1RTLEY.

7i

His qualities
and develop-
ing' a distinct
and easily
perceived re-
semblance to
Him. In per-
sonal charac-
ter and also
in their rela-
tionships i n
human life
the marks of
the Master
appear. They
find that peo-
ple, as such,
are nearer
and dearer
than they
used to be.
Artificial dis-
tinctions are
gradually fad-
ing out and
leaving them
all standing

together as brothers. They assume
the old debt which Cain repudiated.
Christ and not Cain is their Master.
In the home a new atmosphere bathes
the life. Woman commands a new
reverence and childhood a new care.
They assume the old debt which Cain re-
pudiated. Christ and Cain is their Mas-
ter. In the home a new atmosphere
bathes the life. Woman commands a
new reverence and childhood a new care.
Modern art is the unfolding of His
thought in the realm of beauty, as He
furnishes subject matter, perhaps the
ideals, and supplies the finest motives.
Painting and poetry and music love to
express Him. For all true, creative art-
ists Fra. Angelica speaks in the epitaph
which he wrote for his own tomb : "To
me be it no glory that I was as a second
speller ; but that all my gains I laid at
thy feet, O Jesus." If we take away
from our homes all the paintings and
poems and music that we owe directly or
indirectly to Him, we shall leave our
walls bare, our book shelves empty and
silence all our noblest strains of music.
Benevolences in all their forms have
sprung up under His influence. It was
not an accident that no systematic pro-

Christ and the rich ruler.

vision was ever made for the care of the
poor and the orphan and the aged and the
sick till men learned of Him. The cor-
rection and the culture of all imperfect
altruistic sentiments is His achievement.

And the institutions that train men's
minds are His inspiration. Moses was
the first to start public schools and Christ
was Moses' master. As Ramsay says :
"The Jews stood, both morally and intel-
lectually, on a far higher level than the
Gentile." The highest intellectual cult-
ure of to-day is found among those in
whom He most completely manifested
Himself. Christ is the founder of the
college and the university and the com-
mon school. It is not an accident that
when one becomes a friend of the author
of all truth, he longs to know truth and
to make it known as well.

We must not have a Christless Christ-
mas. Men and women and children will
sing and be glad. They will enjoy the
blessed fruits and have the roots of bless-
edness in the soil of their souls. They
will possess his gifts and the giver of the
gifts as well. They will receive for
themselves and distribute for others. He
must have our gratitude and love this
Christmas time.

TALES FROM THE BONNET SHOP

ILLINERY modes of the
season have been deter-
mined by now, and the
many styles needed to
perfect the constantly
changing wardrobe of the
metropolitan woman causes modistes'
shops to be crowded daily with costum-
ers whose wants seem to multiply as the
season advances, instead of increasing as
one might at first imagine. Society
women find use for ten hats, to the av-
erage woman's one. The reason for
this alarming disparity is easily explain-
ed, however, in the fact that this year's
fashions are plainly extravagant.

It's many a year since frocks and
their accessories have reached such

Velvet hats are flower trimmed.
Velvet hats of mushroom shape, tip-tilted
In the most fascinating' manner, are a fad of
the season. This shape is becoming to the
average woman, while the latitude allowed
in its trimming' is apparently limitless. No
more popular or modish way can be con-
ceived than that illustrated, a wreath of
beautifully tinted flowers in yellow and
white encircling' the crown and finishing
with pretty tan silken streamers that tone
artistically with the brown of the velvet in
the hat.

heights of elegance and expensiveness,
both in material and trimming. The use
of real laces for tarn o'shanter hats,
mounting them over a foundation termed
a "bit" of cloth of gold, said "bit" cost-
ing possibly from six to ten dollars a
yard, to say nothing of a couple of os-
trich plumes delicately tinted, and with,
possibly, a narrow band of Russian sa-
ble twisted about the crown, provides a
hat for the financially able, costing forty
to one hundred dollars. Such a hat as
this is' by no means a rarity, and the
calm assurance with which many wom-
en view such a high-priced example of
the milliner's art brings more astonish-
ment to the mind of the uninitiated than
does the cost of the hat itself.

The average woman of moderate
means needs an every day hat, modeled
to harmonize with neat walking or shop-
ping costumes, her church hat, built a
trifle more elaborately than the knock-
about, and a pretty evening hat, that
may be worn becomingly with the thea-
ter or dinner frock, or for formal after-
noon calls and other such conventional
social purposes. At least one of these
hats is sure to be a remodeled last year's
left-over, which reduces the cost of one
of the trio considerably. With this
millinery trinity supplying all require-
ments this same average woman is sure
to be pretty well content. As the needs
of the fashionable city woman are those
which determine the styles adopted by
her country sisters, her hat layette of
necessity, becomes of vast importance
and of greatest interest.

This year's demands have developed a
wider range of models than were in
vogue last year. Not only does the mil-
liner supply a theater hat proper, but
she must now devote a department to
the theater head-dress as well. This is
made necessary by the avidity with
which society women are embracing this
latest Parisian head-dress decision.

In size they differ, but as to beauty of
design and materials each and all will
claim equal favor. A small crown of
green leaves, mounted upon satin cov-
ered wire to encircle a coil of hair may

talks erom the bonnet shop.

73

be very diminutive and remain as good
in style as the wreath of blood red roses
interlaced with spangled ribbon and hav-
ing a huge scarlet aigrette placed, like
a ship's mast, directly in the front. Or
two long curling ostrich plumes of any
fancied color may be fastened to satin
covered wire by means of a priceless
diamond brooch and droop artistically
from the high coiffured hair until the
tips of the feathers .touch their owner's
shoulders.

The designs of these head-dresses are
legion, while the novelty of many of
them recalls the reign of such features
when Miladi's hair was dressed to re-
semble a full rigged ship and the hair
dresser in such demand that many a
fair one was compelled to sleep in a sit-
ting posture the night through in order

Fur in millinery

Among the novelties in the season's smart
hats are those of velvet with crowns of con-
trasting fur, or fur th^t tones handsomely
with the velvet or velveteen costume worn.
Such a hat is shown in the illustration, the
curved brim of black velvet trimmed under-
neath with puffs of taupe colored malinette.
The crown is of sealskin, with the sole trim-
ming consisting of an iridescent bird whose
tail feathers are taupe colored uncurled os-
trich.

The fashionable mushroom.
One charming variety (if the mushroom
hat is shown here in a soft gray felt. The
shape is mounted upon a bandeau of crab-
apple pink velvet, and is trimmed with three
very full sray ostrich plumes that fall at a
Decomins angle in back. A twist of the
red velvet bands the r-rnwn. finishing in
front with a velvet frilled button of goodly
size. The trimming idea is so simple that
anyone mig'ht copy it successfully. If made
in black and white nothing could be more
effective for a smart evening toque.

to prevent dislocation of the many
puffs, curls and ornaments.

Some of the modern hats are as cu-
rious in construction as were those ef-
forts of the old-time hair dressings, and
it is quite an accepted condition to find
hats in most of the smart shops to-day
with a bit of white thread caught
through the hat brim edge, and left tied
in a crisp knot, in order that the sales-
woman may know just where the front
is located. No one appears surprised
at this contrivance, but a plain woman of
modest taste, when confronted by such a
millinery necessity is forced to wonder
what women are about to accept such
monstrosities so senselessly constructed.
Such hats do not, however, dominate
the shops.

Pretty little fur crowned velvet hats
are being shown, trimmed very simply
with a cluster of roses, an ostrich tip or

74

TALES FROM THE BONNET SHOP.

Uncurled ostrich a fashionable trimming.

A smooth, long-haired beaver hat is illus-
trated, modelled for wear with wooltex cos-
tumes for street wear. The shape is a be-
coming one to most faces, and is trimmed
with a studied carelessness combining folds
of liberty satin draped around the crown
and a cluster of drooping uncurled ostrich
feathers shading from brown to cream white,
which nod gracefully over the highly ban-
deaued back. A big velvet bow is placed
under the back brim, with the loops and
ends caressing the hair.

wing, or handsomely and modis4ily
adorned with the fashionable vulture or
uncurled ostrich clusters. Sealskin is
becoming a favorite, as it combines very
prettily with black or any color velvet.
These hats were designed originally for
wear with smart, dressy velvet or velve-
teen frocks, many women preferring to
match such costumes in their millinery.

Mushroom shaped velvet hats trim-
med with beautiful velvet and silken
flowers are modish and becoming to the
average face when bandeaued to tilt at
a pretty angle. Tufts of malinette
nestling under these brims are fashion-
able, while silk ribbons matching the
flowers and knotted into pretty loops
and long flowing streamers, flower
weighted, are being introduced with
much success.

The foregoing are really for after-

noon wear and semi-formal occasions.
For the matinee and the little tea pour-
ings that invariably follow at a fashion-
able tea-shop, a gray felt hat of mush-
room tendencies, trimmed with three
beautiful gray plumes was seen during
the week with its crown wound with
folds of crab-apple pink velvet. A big
velvet frilled and covered button was
placed directly in front seemingly to
hold the feathers in position. The tint
of the velvet matched the smart little
wool-tex tailor-made suit worn by the
girl who owned the hat, and illustrated
to a nicety the artistic possibilities of
these two modish colors.

White felt hats, either of the plain,
smooth French variety or else having
shaggy, crisp hair surfaces, are smartly
kinked into pert little shapes and trim-
med with wings or quills, placed boltly
upright, with a sprightly bit of orange
or scarlet velvet, or a twinkling buckle
of jet or rhinestones, to relieve too di-
rect a contrast. Notwithstanding the
whiteness of these hats, they are worn
with almost any color costume, and much
against one's teaching as to economy
and practicability, milliners are actually
suggesting these hats for practical ev-
ery-day wear.

It is possible that the autoing habit
is responsible for the vogue of the small
hat, but, from whatever reason the fash-
ion springs, the fact remains that the
smart, modish New York woman de-
mands the small hat for dress as well as
for every day wear. She likes it so
built that a veil can be adjusted easily,
whether she is wearing the lacy little
meshes of the dotted fascinator, or the
mantilla-suggesting shroud of the
chiffon automobile veil.

Apropos of this comes the news that
veils are no longer fashionable. No one
need take this announcement seriously,
though. Veils will continue to be
in demand as long as women wear
hats, changing in design alone, and
growing prettier every year as makers
recognize the opportunities for artistic
effects with dots and design so arranged
on novel meshes that they add to rather
than detract from woman's beauty.

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"A KISS AT HOME."

Ballad.

Moderate.

By THEO. H. NORTHRUP.

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"A Kin at Hofce."

Llow Cost Homils

Editor "

We are fortunate in having Mr. William A. Radford consent to answer all questions and give advice FREE OF
COST on all subjects pertaining to building plans and building material. On account of his wide experience as editor,
author and manufacturer, he is, without doubt, the highest authority on all these subjects. Address all inquiries
to William A. Radford, No. 194 Fifth Ave., Chicago, 111., and only enclose two-cent stamp for reply.

wwm

HIRTY-ONE by sixty
feet, exclusive of the
porch, gives ground room
enough for a very roomy
cottage, especially when
the roof space in the ga-
bles is transformed into pretty interest-
ing bedrooms. This plan provides a
tower — an ideal place for a boy's room.
The imagination of any youngster is
stimulated by the prospect of decorating
his own room with pictures, tennis rack-
ets, canoe paddles, Indian clubs, la crosse
sticks, snow shoes, curling stones, ball
clubs, Indian snakes, skis, skates and as
many other evidences of boyish sports
as he can lay his hands on. The en-
couragement given by father and mother
go a long way toward helping out in the
artistic arrangement of such boyish dec-
orations. Every boy has some aesthetic
ideas along these lines that may be de-
veloped to his lasting benefit.

Industrious Americans in middle life
usually have the means necessary to pro-
vide a comfortable home with accommo-
dation for the boys, and girls too, that
are at once more attractive and satisfy-
ing than any outside influence.

A tower room is attractive especially
to a boy because it is something out of
the ordinary, and because it is shut away
from the main part of the house, where
he can make all the noise he wants to
without being continually hushed up*.
Anyone contemplating building this
house could not do a wiser thing than
plan this little tower room for one of
the children. It is not very large, but it
is big enough. Give it to the boy, let it
be his own exclusively until he outgrows
it. Do not pile in some old trash just
because it happens to be a handy corner
to stow away something that you do not
want, but consult the young fellow's
taste, think about what he would like and

LOW COST HOMES.

79

help him arrange it in a style peculiarly
his own. It is well lighted with two dou-
ble windows, and if he needs more room
he will find a perch on the roof. And if
he makes the roof part of his playground
do not scold him for splitting a shingle
now and then. Shingles are cheaper than
boys.

This house plan provides for two
grates. I wish every house in America
contained provision for an open fire.
There would be less crime if homes were
made more cheerful. The one thing
above all others that lends good cheer to
every inmate and every visitor is the open
fire. It was the only luxury known to
prehistoric man. Its welcome light and
warmth have been bred into the marrow
of the human race. No other institution
can possibly take its place. It is part of
human nature to enjoy an open fire, and
it cannot be, and never will be, elimin-
ated.

A fireplace may be cheap and it may
be expensive ; so long as the fire is burn-
ing the furnishings are not criticised ; and
it is by no means necessary to neglect the
decorations designed to enclose the grate
fire. Manufacturers have spent millions
of dollars for machinery, especially de-
signed to turn out grates that are scienti-
fically constructed to induce thorough

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combustion, and they are not expensive
affairs either.

Chimneys are constructed to furnish
sufficient draft to prevent the smoke from
blackening the ceiling. There usually
is, and always should be, a chute to the
chimney pit in the cellar to hold ashes.
Some builders do not understand the
proper construction of this pit. It is
easy to make it with a draft that will
send the ashes out into the room above,
but this is a stupid inexcusable oversight.
It is necessary to have an opening in the
bottom to remove the ashes once or twice
a year, but it is very easy to put in an
airtight door to shut this opening. If
the air cannot enter at the bottom there
can be no draft.

Of course it would be easier and
save a great deal of annoyance after-
wards to see that a proper door is pro-
vided when the chimney is built ; but if
a person is determined to have comfort
in a house they will find some means to
carry out the provisions to secure it. The
price of comfort is forethought with con-
siderable subsequent determination.

Such houses as this may be built to
advantage in any of the smaller cities.
When a place gets a population of half
a million or so there is no room for cot-
tage houses except in the suburbs, and
these places sometimes are not as accessi-
ble as they should be.

TOO BUSY

Some years ago
when the route
of a railroad to
Atlantic City was
being surveyed
and the men were
driving stakes
through the pre-
mises of an old
farmer, he ad-
dressed the leader
of the gang as
follows :

"Layin' out another railroad?"
"Surveying for one," was the reply.
"Goin' threw my barn ?"
"Don't see how we can avoid it."
"Wall, now, mister," said the worthy
farmer, "I calkerlate I've got sumthin'
tew say 'bout that. I want you tew un-
derstand that I've got sumthin' else tew
dew besides runnin' out tew open and
shet them doors every time a train wants
to go through."

MAY BE A MISTAKE

Of a political transaction that had a
suspicious look, Senator Beveridge said
one day:

"Though in the thing there is nothing
on which we can lay our hand, it certain-
ly appears fishy. It reminds me of a
Washington waiter.

"A gentleman, after eating a good
dinner, said to this waiter :

" 'I am sorry I can't give you a tip,

but I find I have only just enough
money to pay your bill.'

"The waiter seized the bill hurriedly.

" 'Just let me add it up again, sir,'
he muttered."

HE WANTED TO KNOW

Mayor McClel-
lan has a butler
in his house who
wears knee
breeches and the
rest of a real but-
ler's outfit — on
ceremonial occa-
sions.

The Mayor in-
vited some lead-
ers over to his
house one even-
ing to have dinner. One of them came
early and was admitted by the stately
butler.

The leader drew McClellan aside as
soon as he had peached him and whis-
pered hoarsely :

"Say, George, why didn't you tell me
this was a masquerade party?"

HIS COMPOSITION

"When Mark Twain was a boy at
school in Hannibal," said a veteran Mis-
sourian, "the school master once set the
class to writing a composition on 'The
Result of Laziness.'

"Young Clemens, at the end of half
an hour, handed in as his composition a
blank slate."

A Happy and Prosperous New Year to all Our Readers.

THE ACME salutes the Mew Fear

with ;i new dress, charming, fresh and
attractive in its artistic creation. The
magazine has fulfilled its promise and
the current number surpasses the prev-
ious ones in the variety as well as the
quantity and quality of its contents.
It is the only periodical of its kind: its
aim and scope are entirely peculiar to
itself.

The magazine has been accorded the
most flattering commendations both
from the press and the general reading
public, and has already attained a high
position among the leading periodicals
of the day — indeed few magazines have
won popular favor in so short a time.

This success lias only spurred its pub-
lishers to renewed exertions to make i1
worthy of greater favors still. In en-
tering upon the new year it puts forth
no other pledge than that the literary
and artistic quality of the current issue
will be more than Squalled in its future
numbers. It has fixed a high standard
of excellence for itself, and tin.' constant

endeavor will be to raise above ils own
standard.

In the November number of the Acme
three prizes were offered; One of ten
dollars for the best short story, another
of ten dollars for the best illustrated
joke or drawing, suitable for reproduc-
tion, and five dollars for the best photo-
graph of a local subject.

Of the stories senl in competetion.
many were clever but I'vw of strictly
local coloring. The winning story.
".Martha Livingstons Love." by VY.
P. Bveritt, is published in this number.

Many of the drawings were sugges-
tions for illustrated jokes, which, while
good, were not local

The successful one. a drawing satiriz-
ing a local municipal condition, will be
published in a future number.

The photographs showed that Tren-
ton has many very clever amateur
photographers. The best picture was
a local scene by John II. Llackwood.
which will be reproduced in the Febru-
ary number.

UNCLE REUBEN AND HIS FAMILY SEEING TRENTON.

Uncle Reuben, (/!" Mike, the Neinboy,) — "Sonny, do ye know whar RiverView Cemetery is

Mike — "Cert "

Uncle Reuben — " Well, will ye tell me how to get thar '.' "

Mike— "Sure I will ! Die."

Drawn by Wm. E. Pedrick.

"//<• 'cas in the forefront of the Continentals.

See prize story, u Martha Livingston's Love/'

cTW

Vol. I.

January, 1907.

No. 3.

Entered as second class matter November 16, 1906, at the Post Office at Trenton, N. J., under
the Act. of Congress of March :!. 1879.

The section of the arch now in (he

Trenton Buttle Monuirn ni.

A RELIC OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.

The Triumphal Arch under which the First President of the United States passed when
on his way to New York to be Inaugurated.

AlOi

New York

fJ&ragKMoM; THE few rare n -
preserved in tlie 1 ronton
Battle Monument is a frag-
ment of the arch under
which General George Wash-
ington passed, on his way to
City, to be inaugurated
President of the United States.

The rough-looking old boards of
which it is composed was part of those
that formed the trimphal arch which
the citizens of "Trenton Village" erect-
ed over the stone bridge crossing the
Assunpink Creek, on April 21, 1789.
If they were gifted with speech, they
could tell a pretty tale of the doings
which they witnessed more than a cen-

tury ago. It was a rare scene that un-
folded beneath the evergreen festooned
arehf one in which the living actors
were gaily dressed Colonial sires, dames
bedecked with flowers, and maidens at-
tired in immaculate white. It was,
moreover, a scene whose meaning seem-
ed to penetrate into the very deepest
affection of Washington for he return-
ed thanks for it in a letter expressing
the most profound gratitude. He al-
ludes to the maidens who stood beneath
it, scattering flowers under his horse's
feet, and singing as they did so, as "the
white-robed choir," remembrance of
whom, time could never efface from
bis mind.

Waxliinylori-s Reception ut Trenton, April :/*/, 178if.

From an old engraving bv T. Kelly.

The niiilrons who took pari in the
ceremony were :

Mrs. Susannah Armstrong, Mrs. Henry Bor
den, Mrs. Susannah Calhoun, .Mrs. Elizabeth
Chambers, Mrs. Esther Cox, Mrs. Mary Dickin-
son, Mrs. Elizabeth Ewing, .Mrs. Sarah Furman,
Mrs. Susannah Gordon, Mrs. Mary Hannah, Mrs.
Sarah How, Mrs. Keziah Burr Howell, Mis.
Maiy Hunt, Mrs. Esther Lowry, Mrs. Sarah Mil-
nor. Mrs. Ann Richmond, Mrs. Mary Smith,
Mrs. Rachael Stevens, Mrs. Annis Stockton, Mrs.
Catherine Stockton. Mrs. Jane Tate, Mrs. Grace
Woodruff.

Young women representing the thirteen states
were Miss Eleanor Armstrong, Miss Elizabeth
Borden, Miss Elizabeth Cadwalader, Miss
Catherine Calhoun, Miss Esther Cox, Miss
Mary Cox, Miss Mary Dickinson, Miss Maria
Furman, Miss Mary < '. Keen, Miss Mary Low-
ry. Miss Maria Meredith, Miss Sarah Moore.
and Miss Margaret Tate.

Little girls who sang the ode of welcome
were Miss Sarah Airy, Miss Jemimah Broad -
hurst. Miss Sarah Collins, Miss Sarah How ,
Miss Sarah Burr Howell, Miss Elizabeth Mil-
aor.

The spot on which Ihc arch was creel-
ed was historic ground.

Bui a few years before Washington
and Ins ragged troops fired with a <\r-
termination that the march of tin* in-
vader, the redcoats of England who
then were overrunning Jersey, must be
checked at all hazards, had retreated
over the Assunpink Bridge to fall on
the British forces at Princeton. The
fete about the arch was one of the pret-
tiest incidents of Washington's journey

from .Mount Vernon to New York, riv-
alling even the gorgeous scenes inciden-
tal to his reception by the foremost men
of Philadelphia at Gray's Ferry.

Washington had left his home on
April 16th. .lust prior to his departure
he had visited his mother at Fredericks-
burg to bid her goodby, and then he
began the journey at whose goal he was
to be elevated to the first office in the
land. "About 10 o'clock I bade
adieu," reads an entry in his journal.
"to Mount Vernon, to private life and
to domestic felicity, and with a mind
oppressed with many anxious and pain-
ful sensations than 1 have words to ex-
press, set out for New York in com-
pany with Mr. Thomas and Colonel
Humphreys with the best disposition
to render service to my country in
obedience to its call, but with less hope
of answering its exceptions."

Demonstrations in his honor were
held at Georgetown, Baltimore, Wil-
<>f answering its expectations.

Washington left the latter city and
set out for Trenton on the morning of
April 21st. The City Troop was
anxious to accompany him. but as the
day was rainy. Washington declined its
services, stating that he eoidd not al-
low it to ride in the wet while he was
secured from the rain in his carriage.

Toward the afternoon, when he had ar-
rived at the outskirts of Trenton, how-
ever, the sun shone oul and the day be-
came wonderfully pleasant. A troop of
horse, a distinguished party of citizens,
a company of infantry and a delegation
(tf ladies met him. A beautiful white
horse was provided for him. and.
surrounded by thousands of spectators
hurrahing and singing, lie approached
the bridge over the Assunpink. On
1'iat bridge was erected the arch of
which the lagged old hoards now in
the Battle Monument were part. The
arch was twenty feet wide, it was sup-
ported by thirteen symbolic columns
entwined. with evergreens, and the fol-
lowing inscription, in large gilt letters
shone old over the arch: "The Defen-
der of the Mothers will also Protect
their Daughters."' Above this again,
on a square ornamented with ever-
greens and flowers, were the historic
dates. "December 126. 1776, and Janu-
ary 2. 1777.*' The very top consisted
of large sunflowers, intended to express
the motto, ' ' To you alone. ' ' The dames
of Trenton stood beneath the arch,
and their daughters, all gowned in
white, but adorned with chaplets of
flowers, stood in front of them. As
Washington approached all joined in
singing an ode.

We come, mighty chief, once more,
Welcome to this grateful shore ;

Now no mercenary foe

Aims again the fatal blow.

Aims at thee, the fatal blow.

Virgins fair and matrons grave

Those thy conquering arms did save

Build for thee triumphal bower;

Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers,

Strew your hero's way with flowers.

As the last lines were sung, six of the
young women, carrying baskets of Mow-
ers strewed them before the path of
Washington. His emotions overcame
him. He stopped his horse and tried

to express his gratitude. Many were
moved to tears.

Before leaving Trenton he sent the
following letter to the committee of the
ladies who had arranged the reception:

"General Washington cannot leave
the place wit limit expressing his ac-
knowledgements to the matrons and
young ladies who received him in so
novel and grateful a manner at the
Triumphal Arch in Trenton, for the
exquisite sensations lie experienced in
that affecting moment. The aston-
ishing contrast betwean his former
and actual situation at the same spot
— the elegant taste with which it was
adorned for the present occasion and
the innocent appearance of the white
robed choir, which met him with the
gratnlatorv song, have made such im-
presions on his remembrance as he
assures them will never be effaced. ' '

The framework of the arch was made
of rough hemlock by Benjamin Yard,
grandfather of former Judge Yard.
Mrs. dames P. Armstrong, one of the
matrons in charge of the ceremonies
preserved three of the spans of the arch
and they passed down into the posses-
sion of her daughters, the Misses Susan
and Mary Armstrong, who lived until
their death at 120 West State Street.

One of the spans of the arch was
erected over the State House gate when
Lafayette visited Trenton in 1824. The
one now in the Battle Monument was
preserved for many years in a stable on
Quarry Alley, in the rear of the resi-
dence of the .Misses Armstrong.

In 1876. Mrs. General William S.
Stryker was seeking relics of New Jer-
sey to exhibit at the Centennial cele-
bration at Philadelphia and secured
this fragment of the arch from the
Misses Armstrong. After the close of
the Centennial the relic was deposited
in Independence Hall, where it remain-
ed an object of wide interest to visit-
ors until ten years ago, when General
Stryker, representing the heirs of the
Misses Armstrong, asked for its return
and it was placed in the Monument.

c^^KkM)

A PROGRESSIVE MERCHANT.

!NE < >F the great department

y& r\ 88 storcs of Xrw Jersey is t,iat

£j Ll jgg of S. IC. Kaufman, in this

$$$$ ^itv- wh|ch du™R the ""

cent Christmastide made a
record for holiday sales
equalled by no previous year of its his-
tory.

The tastes of its founder, which in-
clined him toward the pursuit of fine
art in his early youth, have marked the
development of his great enterprise in
its successive stages. The arrange-
menl of goods and manner in which
they are displayed show the diseriniin-
at ing taste of an a rl isl.

Mr. Kaufman's early mercantile ex-
perience in the dry goods establishment
of Griunbacher Brothers, beginning in
1876, at the Katzenbach hardware place
four years later and as a traveling rep-
resentative of the old Union Pottery
after another four years, gave him a
foundation in practical business knowl-

edge that he has used with excellent re-
sults, lie learned early to go into the
details of Ins work thoroughly. He
spent six weeks prior to his work as a
pottery salesman in studying the pro-
cess of manufacture at the works, and is
thoroughly versed in pottery manu-
facture, the ceramic department of his
establishment proving this fact. It is
not only complete in representative
lines of Trenton ware but includes the
finest foreign products as well.

The nucleus of the Kaufman depart-
ment store had its beginning in a small
way on the site of the present South
Broad Street establishment of Lehman
& Company, in 1885, and was devoted
to household goods and crockery.
Four years later Mr. Kaufman purchas-
ed the John Winters Central Garden
for the needs of his growing business.
The space occupied by that resort is
now the main room of the department
store, while the saloon has given place
to the silverware department, near the
entrance of winch is the site of the
triumphal arch under winch General
Washington inarched on his memorable
passage through this city after the close
of the Revolutionary War. Five years
ago the three-story building at the cor-
ner of Lafayette street was added to
house and Avy goods department, and
now a still "i-eater enlargement is being
planned.

.Air. Kaufman has a polished and gen-
ial manner, lie is prominent in fra-
ternal circles and possesses marked
public spirit. He is interested in auto-
mobiling and fishing and has found
considerable diversion in making pastel
drawings.

lie is a native Trentonian, was horn
in the old Fourth ward and educated
in the public schools and Trenton Busi-
ness ( lollege.

JOHN J. CLEARY

who is one of the learned editors of' The Trenton Sunday Advertiser, is young in years bul old in
journalistic work, having been constantly "in harness " since he first entered the (field of journalism
as a boy in \W2.

He has a particular fondness lor caricaturing prominent citizens. In the above cartoon The Ac mi.
"lives him a taste of his own medicine."

By Force of Circumstance. ===A Pipe Dream.

In the midst of his reflection, lie was accosted

M/^URSE the luck !"

^»/ The milkman gave a vicious tug at the
pump handle and jumped into his wagon. <ii\
ing vent to his spite by whipping his horse un-
mercifully, he sped down the road, leaving the
air blue behind him.

For years lie had left home every morning be-
fore daybreak with his cans half rilled with milk.
These be slocked up with water from the old
pump and then proceeded to serve bis Broad St.
customers. For the first time in his career as a
purveyor of pure milk from his own dairy, the
pump had failed him. Somebody had broken
the handle.

It was too late to return home, and iie hadn't
the nerve to borrow any water from his neigh
bors, hardened though he was.

by a stranger, who ordered hifh to stop, at the
same time displaying a state Dairy Inspector's
badge. With a much better grace than th official
had expected, the milkman pulled up his horse
and uncovered the cans for inspection. The re-
sult was a complete surprise lo the man with the
badge. He was utterjy dumfounded. For the
Hist time in his life all the milk he listed was ab-
solutely pure.

The news spread far and wide. Soon the milk-
man had not a single rival left The monopoly
made him rich, and everywhere he went he was
proudly pointed out as the honest milkman of
Trenton.

$ & 4i

DICKENSON

B REESE

DRAKE

HICKS

SOME TRENTONIANS AND THEIR
COATS OF ARMS.

{'Qoniinued from Drmubi r Number.

WWWF ESPECIAL prominence in

:. j7\ #% **%. -I

jc *~\ x th's r'1-v nffVP '",('n ""'

w C/ O Dickinsons. Emigrating to
€3^/s*J[3 Virginia in lo7>4, Walter,
J^y^Jty^i Henry and John Dickinson
established tlie family in
that colony, Maryland and Pennsyl-
vania. ;i!id from the Pennsylvania
branch the illustrious New Jersey line
is descended.

Prom Sidney Breese, purser in the
English navy, and in all probability
connected with the A.p-Tthys family of
County Salop. England, came the Tren-
ton branch of the family. The date of
the emigration of Sidney Breese was
about 1730.

From John Drake, an emigrant to
Boston in 1630, came the New Jersey
Drakes. Like the Xew Jersey Elys,
descendants of Joshua, who came to
Trenton about 1685, the family has be-
come widely diffused.

Illustrative of what may be termed a
Quaker group of arm-bearing families
are the local names of Hicks, Snowdcn
and Wharton. The Hicks family, of
which came Elias Hicks, founder of
the Hicksite branch of the Society of
Friends, were of Long Island source,
and probably descended from Sir Ellis
Hicks, knighted by the Black Prince.
The family thus traces a common origin
with the Baronets Hicks-Beach.

( To be rout in a i<l. 1

THE POET OF THE SIERRAS— JOAQUIN MILLER.

P.V HELENE WA1DE.

A poet of the mountains, close to God.

A heart attuned by nature's gentle
hand.
A rugged form, a reverent soul

A bard of freedom's land.

As many an angel robed in spotless
white
In marbled prison waits the sculp-
tor's hand.
So waits the spirit beautiful
In everv clime and land.

To him she hath revealed her wondrous

face
That bringeth benediction soon or
bite-
In everv cliff from Delaware
To 'Frisco's Golden Gate!

Written at Trenton. Nov. L4-15, 1906 — after
hearing a lecture by Joaquin Miller.

PRIZE STORY.

MARTHA LIVINGSTON'S LOVE.

By W. I\ EVE-RITT.

[SS LUCRETIA LIYING-

ston sat musing before the
fire with an open letter in
her hand; The fire-light
colored her white hair to a
golden hue and the lines in
her aristocratic face was softened with
a pleasant expression, for the old house,
after a silence of many years was going
to he awakened.

Martha. .Miss Livingston's niece, had
written from Xew York, expressing a
desire to visit Trenton. She was going
to be married in the fall to Walter
Worthington, an army officer stationed
at Port Hamilton, and she told her aunt
that she wanted to get away from the
nay world for a little while.

She wished, too. to see the old home-
stead on State Street, where the Liv-
ingstons had lived for a century and she
wanted Walter to see it. Would her
dear aunt Liicretia he good enough to
ask them to come to see he)'.'

Miss Livingston aroused herself from
reverie and going to an old fashioned
desk in a corner of the room, wrote the
invitation which was to bring new life
into the old house.

When a week Later Marl ha appeared
she was not a formidable object. She
was even smaller than her aunt and the
(ild lady welcomed her with a kiss on
each cheek'. "A Livingston through
and through, my dear."" she whispered.
There were old family stories to be
listened to. old portraits and faded
daguerreotypes to be examined, and all
sorts of curious relics of dead ami gone
Livingstons. To Martha, the house
seemed to he tenanted by generations
of ghosts. She saw them sitting in the
high backed chairs and she felt them
wandering through the gloomy halls
and darkened rooms. Time crept by
but sknvlv. until Walter came, and then

the ghosts of the past made way for
present joys ami the days could not he
too long.

The lovers spent hours in Cadwalader
Park ami wandering along the river
bank. They were walking one day past
the old hurrying ground of St.
.Michaels, and Martha suggested that
they go inside and read the inscriptions
on the old tomb stones. They went
through the open gate and walked
among the stones marking the graves
of long forgotten Trentonians. Martha
sal down upon one of the table-like
Hat stones, covering a century old
grave, Walter seated himself beside her
and they talked as they always did. of
the lift' they would lead together and
the places they wanted to see.

"Well, il will take a long time to do
all this, sweetheart." Walter said.
"How long do you think you'll love
me. and want to wander about the earth
with a soldier husband .' "

" "Susan Hunt' over there had been a
'fond ami faithful wife for sixty years,'
perhaps I will be that."' Martha said.
"But I will make you a promise; 1 will
love you as long as the Susan or Nancy
whose name is over yonder loved her
lord," and Martha pointed to an old
stone some distance away. "It may be
lone- or it may he short. But this is a
vow. and I am supers! it ions : I know it
will come true."

She walked over to the old stone and
kneeled down to read the inscription.
Walter watched her; he was not super-
stitious, and he knew that his love
would last forever and he felt. too. that
hers would, so why care what the stone
might say.' The letters had been worn
away by the rains of many years and
were almost illegible.

"Why. it's .Martha." she cried, and
in a moment added, with a little note

of awe in her voice. "Martha Living-
ston." It is my own headstone. "'Aged
nineteen years and three months," she
read. And then rising, continued:
"You see. she was neither fond nor
faithful."

Martha smiled ; it was only a jest, of
course, but she shivered slightly. They
left the cemetery and walked home
through the gathering twilight. She
was very quiet and thoughtful and held
Walter's hand tightly clasped in hers.
When they arrived home Martha asked
Miss Livingston, "Aunt Lucretia, who
was Martha Livingston, aged nineteen
years and three months? We found
her to-day in St. Michael's church
yard."

"Haven't I told you about her,
dear?" Miss Lucretia replied. "She
was my grandfather's youngest sister
and lived here — not in this house but
in the old one. on Warren Street. She
was going to lie married to a soldier
in Washington's army. When the Con-
tinentals marched into Trenton on the

morning of the battle, she Avas so
anxious about her lover and her desire
to see hini was so great, that she mount-
ed 1o the roof of the house to watch for
him. He was in the forefront of the
Continentals and she recognized him
just as the Ilessains tired a volly at the
oncoming line. When the smoke clear-
ed for a moment she saw her lover fall-
en and after the battle went in search
of hi])], only to learn that he had been
killed. She did not cry, she did not
speak, hut the next morning, when they
went to her room, they found her sit-
ting there dead."

Miss Lucretia shivered a little when
she finished the story and went into the
house. Walter was sitting on the steps
by Martha, but neither of them spoke
for a few moments.

"You see, I was quite right," she said
at last, slipping her hands into his; "she
could not live without him and so she
followed him — they have been together
ever since, and she will love him for-
ever— as I will love you."

OLD JACKUM FELLER, NOW.

Bv MAY BROOME SCUDDER.

Jack wuz his name.

Ez good a dog ez ever tinned a hair.
How did he get it ?

It growed, like Topsey, "from nowhere;"
N then it grew to Jackum,

Till finally, somehow,
'Twuz just old Jackum, feller.

Old Jackum, feller, now.

Wot was his pedigree?

'Twuz "nit," mongrel, 11 homely ez cud he;
A red haired, shaggy, stump tail cuss.

'N his ev'ry tho't fur me;
The truest friend I ever hed,

How I wish I hed him now ;
He was a trump, was Jackum,

Old Jackum, teller, now.

Ef cows got in the orchard

'N Jackum was upstairs,
Down from the winder he wud drap,

Nor stop to say his prayers;
Fur then he'd make things hum,

'N cum whinin' hack. to bow
'N be petted ez old Jackum;

Old Jackum, feller, now.

Trenton, N. J., December, 1906.

'Lowin' Jack to've bin a man,

I vow, he'd take his stand
Long with Dewey, Sampson, Schley,

Enny hero in the land;
But bein' jest a dog,

'N heart ez good, somehow
He wuz only jest old Jackum;

Old Jackum, feller, now.

But Jack wuz great in other things

X did the best he cud
To guard the door, 'n' watch the gate;

He fotchcd the kindlin wood.
Laws! Ef a tramp kem in,

He'd raise up sech a row,
Ez wuz only raised by Jackum;

Old Jackum, feller, now.

Time's gone on, n' with him, Jack;

It's never bin the same
Sence he hcz gone, 'n' when I go

To trod thel He'vinly lane,
A whiskin' round St. Peter's legs

'E peepin' thro' a crack,
Twud do my soul a heap of good,

Ef 1 cud sec old Jack;

Old Jackum, feller, now.

JOHN E. GILL

of the Rider-Moore- Stewart Business College, who is a popular and delightful speaker, is here shown
in the act. Professor (Jill was recently made President of the Republican Club. He has a handsome
and genial personality and a wide knowledge of the economic and political problems of the day, and
is never at a loss when called upon to " make a few remarks."

A Matter Of Grave Importance.

A SERVANT timidly opened the door and
coughed deferentially : "A message from
Mayor Gnichtel."

"I have no time for petty affairs ; the messen-
ger need not wail."

The Councilman laid the note on the table and
turned again to the task that absorbed him.

"Yes," he mused, "it is a difficult subject ; a
subject requiring most careful thought. it.
would never do to make a mistake."

He took up a red-covered volume and wearily
turned the pages, then laid it down with a sigh.

"No," he muttered, "no light for me there.
There seems to be no precedent. I shall never
solve the problem," and, with a curse, he swept
the book and the sheets of papers off his desk,

broke two chairs by way of emphasis, and
left the room in a temper.

Again the servant entered and silently picked
up the debris. She sorted the papers and letters,
and glancing over them found an invitation to
dinner from a Mrs. Hortense Weeds. Each of
I lie remaining sheets contained an address of
which the following are samples :

"Dear Mrs. Weeds — "

"Dear Madam — "

"My dear Madam — "

"My dear friend — "

My. dear Mrs, Hor-
tense Weeds — "

i i i -» * «■ * * *

ELIJAH MASON'S SIN.

A Romance of the Battle of Trenton.

Bv HARRY A. DONNELLY.

WOMAN, we've a
wounded officer here who
lould have shelter. He is
very weak. Will you find
m to rest until
we can prepare for his re-
moval?" The words were spoken by
a stalwart soldier as he directed Mar-
garet Mason's attention to a pale-faced
young man between two comrades
standing in the road.

*'Nay. daughter, what would father
say? The soldier is a Hessian." spoke
the girl's mother, who had heard the ap-
peal.

"But he is sorely wounded, mother.
Surely, we must give him shelter."' re-
plied the girl. Then turning to the
soldier, she said :

"Bring the officer in. then hurry for
assistance to remove him, for I fear
father would frown to find him here."

The spokesman for the injured man
directed his comrades to enter the
house, and in their arms they carried
Lieutenant Hans von Guitermann.
They placed him on a long wooden set-
tee in the dining-room, gave a few has-
ty directions and left.

Elijah Mason's house was in Penn's
Manor and from the windows on its
cast the village of Trenton and the ice-
filled Delaware were in view.

It was early in the morning of Christ-
mas Day. 177(i. The Battle of Trenton

had been fought and won, and the
Hessians whom he had surprised were
General Washington's prisoners.

Lieutenant von Guitermann had been
wounded at the opening of the engage-
ment. He was young and wild. A
spendthrift, exiled from home, who had
accepted a commission from the British
not because he believed their cause was
just, hut for the excitement of war, for
the change of scenes so many of his
class have sought in the belief that old-
time habits would disappear and a
brighter future beam upon them.

Yon Guitermann was wounded in the
breast by one of the first bullets fired
by Washington's men, hut continued
his efforts to re-organize his comrades
until, seeing defeat was certain, had re-
quested three friends to take him over
(he river. In one of his pockets were
papers bearing informal ion which
would lie fatal to the cause he foughl
for should the Revolutionists gain pos-
session of them. A scow was found and
in it his companions poled their way
between the ice to the Pennsylvania.
shore, found shelter for von Guiter-
mann, then started out afoot to search
for a physician.

Not long had the Hessians plodded
through the snow before three horse-
men came upon them, and evasive an-
swers broughl hot words, and these in
turn were followed by shots. Those of

♦ he whiskey-befuddled Hessians were
wide of their mark, but the bullets from
the guns carried by Elijah Mason and
Ins sons sped with unerring aim. When
the smoke had lifted, the Hessians were
prostrate. The patriots alighted from
their horses and walked toward the
three soldiers. The blood of each was
reddening the snow. Two of them were
dead and the other was dying.

"Not far down the road, in a white
farm house, is our comrade, Hans von
Guitermann. Care for him. His par-
ents are wealthy. In my pocket is a
letter from his father in Europe. I
have carried it several weeks. It tells
me to let Hans know Christmas night —
I'm dying — tell Hans his — " The sol-
dier could say no more, but arose to
his feet, drew a package at letters from
his coat, clasped his hands to his shat-
tered side and fell upon his face. The
third of the Hessians was dead.

Elijah Mason was not a Quaker, hut
had lived so long among them that
their habits and fancies were his. Up-
on realizing that three deaths had been
the result of the conflict began by
words he was almost frenzied. What
would his God-fearing neighbors say
when they heard that three drunken
and half frozen men had been killed by
himself and boys?

"Cover their bodies with snow, my
sons.*' he said, "until I can think what
we shall do." Then, obeying their
father's command, the two yoTing men
sank the bodies from view in a drift
and covered the bloody snow with
handfuls that were spotless white.
The temporary grave was finished, and
after picking up the letters. Elijah
Mason and his boys remounted their
horses and rode slowly homeward.

The father was the first to enter the
house, and on the threshold his daugh-
ter stopped him. Her face betrayed
her anxiety, for she had hoped that the
soldiers who brought the wounded von
Guitermann to the house would have
removed him before her father's re-
turn.

"Father." she said, as she untied his
»reat muffler. "I fear that thou wilt be
angry with me for what I have done,
but during thy absence a wounded
soldier was brought here for shelter,
and I prevailed upon mother to take
him in. Did I do wrong, father?"

"Where is the stranger?" the old
man asked.

"Here, father." answered Margaret,
as she led him into the sitting room
where Lieutenant von Guitermann lay
a heavy quill over him and his greal
brown eyes staring vacantly upward.

The old man looked at the fine feat-
ures of the sufferer a moment, then sent
his oldest boy for a physician. He did
not rebuke his daughter for her act of
mercy, but went into the kitchen and
sat near the fire with his head in his
hands. He was thinking of the tragedy
down the road.

The next day Elijah Mason heard of
the victory at Trenton and became
firmly convinced that he was doing
wrong in keeping the wounded man in
his home, but the bodies under the
snow haunted him. and in the belief
that his charity would partially expiate
his sin he decided that Lieutenant von
Guitermann should remain at least un-
til he was stronger.

That day the snow fell again and at
night sleet and rain came down until
a crust so solid a horse could travel
over it was formed.

CHAPTER IT.

Snow and ice kept the dead Hessians
covered until early in the Spring, when
a thaw set in. Then Elijah Mason was
troubled sorely as to the disposition of
the bodies from which the covering
soon would he melted.

He was in no mood for sleep the
night the ice broke and formed a block-
ade where the river turns just below
Trenton. He walked to the window
when he heard the crunching of the
ice and the roaring of the rising waters.
In the moonlight he could see the snow-
drift where the Hessians lay, and as he
watched, the water rose higher and
higher until it flowed into the river
road. Then the white sepulchre dis-
appeared, and the old man knew that
the bodies it had contained were being
buffeted toward the sea.

The next morning when Elijah
Mason and his boys went down the
road and saw the rough earth left by
the receding waters where the graves

of the soldiers had been, the father
breathed more freely, and cautioned
the boys to keep the secret of their
bloody deed to themselves.

But the disappearance of the bodies
did not mark the end of Elijah Mason's
sufferings. Lieutenant von Guiter-
mann was recovering, and often when
the old man entered the bed room he
found his daughter's hands clasped in
those of the officer.

Week after week passed and the
Lieutenant continued to improve. He
was handsome, romantic and affection-
ate, and long before he could arise lie
was in love with Margaret .Mason, and
she with him. The old man saw the
way their hearts were drifting and
learned to so hate the soldier that he
not only refused to talk to him. hut de-
cided to carry the message of the dead
Hessian undelivered to Ids grave.

The Lieutenant was without money.
If he never received the message sent
by his father, he would always believe
himself an outcast, and as such could
never expect to marry an honest man's
daughter. So Elijah .Mason argued to
himself, as he placed the package of
letters in the bottom of a chest of which
he alone had the key.

The buds had opened on the trees and
the grass in the fields was tall when
Lieutenant von Guitermann first left
his bed in Elijah Mason's house. The
first day he came down stairs he sought
his host, but in reply to his thanks was
told to get away as soon as possible.
The affront these words carried awak-
ened the soldier to the knowledge that
during all his weeks of illness he had

been an unwelcome guest to. the father
of the demure young woman who had
so faithfully cared for him.

Von Guitermann had always had
money. When his funds became ex-
hausted he had found little trouble in
obtaining aid from his father. His
first realization that he was practically
a pauper was when Elijah Mason told
him so. The last interview with his
father had been stormy and had result-
ed in his coming to America. Now he
was an outcast, with no way of pay-
ing for the attentions which had saved
his life. He had no clothing but the
uniform he wore when wounded, but
rather than remain longer on the chari-
ty of Elijah Mason he said farewell to
Margaret and her mother and journey-
ed over the river to Trenton, then by
slow degrees onward to Philadelphia,
where he obtained employment.

One thought, always uppermost in
his mind was of dear little Margaret
.Mason. lie prospered, but longed for
another caress from her gentle hands
until he at last determined to see her
again.

The second entrance of Hans von
(Juitermann into the Mason farm house
was very different from the first. He
had money, good clothing and fine
health. When Elijah .Mason saw him
and was offered gold in payment for
his unwilling hospitality, another af-
front followed and von Guitermann he-
came defiant. He left the house and
walked to the river bank, where the
boat in which he crossed was moored.
Ashe dipped the oars into the water he
heard Margaret Mason call him.

i 'In lit continued. )

THE LITTLE WHITE HEARSE.

By HARRY A. DONNELLY.

The little white hearse is coming along: There in the casket not far apart.

Make way for its passage, push hack' Lies Mamma's baby —and Mamma's
the throng. heart-
See the white ponies arching their The little white hearse is coming along,
necks, Make way for its passage, push hack
Nodding the pompon each proud head the throng,
decks.

AN EDITOR'S
REVENGE

By LEROY KENNEDY

OLONEL BEVIER sat on
the porch of the leading
hotel of Steelville, Ala-
bama, on a bright May
morning, basking in the
sunshine, placidly smoking
a long, black cigar. The hotel porch was
flush with the sidewalk and faced a di-
lapidated Court House and a bare, dusty
unpaved and unfenced public square —
unfenced except with cumbersome hitch-
ing racks of huge logs with wooden pins
set into them, stretched around the sides
of the square. The Colonel was a strang-
er in Steelville and was attracting much
attention. Three liverymen had each ot-
fered him the services of the best rigs
and fastest horses in the county. Two
small colored boys had each offered to
"shine 'em up." One leading citizen had
neglected to open his store for nearly an
hour after the usual time, while he in-
vestigated the hotel register and question-
ed the proprietor in regard to the late
arrival. Some of the "leading citizens''
sat around in the few split-bottom chairs
in groups, others on the steps, while still
others "hunkered" down against the sun-
ny side of the wall, chewing tobacco in-
dustriously and speculating as to whether
the stranger was an iron king come to
build furnaces and coke ovens, a railroad
magnate projecting the long expected
trunk line through Steelville, or, most
likely, a capitalist whose business was to
put the embryo land boom, with which
Steelville was threatened, on the wings of
the wind and fan it into a veritable cy-
clone.

A tall, lean individual, wearing a last
year's straw hat, his shoes unlaced, smok-
ing a black .Powhattan pipe with a short

stem, hitched his chair a trifle nearer the
Colonel and inquired :

"Stranger here, eh ?"

"Yes, somewhat," admitted the Colo-
nel.

"Where mout you be from?"

"Georgia ; Atlanta, Georgia," said the
Colonel. "At least that's the last place
I'm from. But can you tell me what
time of day that dad-lamned County
Court Clerk is in the habit of opening up
his office over there?" pointing to a closed
door in the corner of the Court House.

"Well, er, yes — that is, I'm the County
Court Clerk, and I'll open up any old time
there's business to be done."

As they proceeded across the public
square the interest of the groups on the
hotel porch deepened and comments be-
came audible.

"That settles it, 'Squire ; he's gone over
to the Cote House with Jim Beazely. It's
a railroad, shore. He wouldn't go over
thar for nothin' but to look at the County
map."

"I'll bet Jim Beazely pints out that the
most likely way for that railroad to run
is right through his ole po' farm," said
another.

While the Colonel is closeted with Mr.
Jim Beazely we will join the citizens of
Steelville on the hotel porch in their
speculations as to who the Colonel really
is and, after the manner of village folk,
delve into his motives for being here.
Just when, or where, or how the Colonel
acquired his title, no one, probably not

i8

AN EDITOR'S REVENGE.

even himself, could tell. For many years
he had been what the printing fraternity
would call a "typographical tourist." He
had worked on nearly every prominent
daily paper in a dozen or fifteen states,
successively as foreman, typesetter, proof-
reader, telegraph editor and in various
other capacities. The Colonel, the "poet
printer of the South," ha'd long been a
convivial good fellow in many different
cities and enjoyed a wide acquaintance
among the newspaper fraternity, and
many were pleased when the Colonel ac-
cepted a position on the Atlanta Consti-
tution and announced that he had quit
"the road'' for good and "climbed on the
water wagon."

A few nights previous to our introduc-
tion to the Colonel on the hotel porch at
Steelville, he had been sticking type on
the Constitution and had set up a piece
of country correspondence headed "Steel-
ville, Alabama." In addition to the usual
run of personals and social happenings,
it contained a glowing account of the
growing land boom in the iron belt, and
stated that several prominent citizens
would substantially encourage a hustling
newspaper man who would come and es-
tablish a weekly paper. The Colonel's
determined separation from the flowing
bowl had enabled him to accumulate a
few dollars, which he then and there de-
cided to invest in a country paper, and
so we find him, dressed in his best suit
of black, on the hotel porch at Steelville,
waiting the tardy appearance of the Court
official who had in charge the remains of
the last paper -which had struggled and
died in Steelville. Mr. Beazely explained
to the Colonel that the levy and sale of
the printing plant after each ambitious
journalist had run his limit was merely
to keep the press in the town ; that local
capital had originally purchased it and
that it did not seem right for outside
creditors of a temporary owner to come
in and take it away from them.

The terms were soon arranged ; a small
amount of cash, "jest to cover cote costs,
you know," was paid in, and the work of
getting the office in shape to issue a
paper was begun. During the progress
of cleaning up the Colonel discovered

that nearly all the large display type and
large quads were missing from the cases.
Upon inquiry of Mr. Jim Beazely the
Colonel was informed that there were
two or three cigar boxes full over in the
back room of Doc Richards' drug store,
where "the boys" had used them the past
winter for poker chips, and possibly there
was a box or two in the back room of the
Sheriff's office, and he would inquire
around and see if he could locate any
more.

The one printer of the town, who had
learned the art preservative in short spas-
modic stunts under the various proprie-
tors who had preceded the Colonel, was
employed, and the following week the
first issue appeared. The Colonel had
impressed his strong personality in vig-
orous, fearless, polished English upon the
editorial page. His brand of Democracy
was sufficiently clear and virile to please
even an unreconstructed rebel, and the
Steelville Weekly Cyclone was the one
topic of approved discussion throughout
the county.

A few days later the door of the Colo-
nel's sanctum opened with a rush and in-
to the room breezed a young man with
red hair and a suspicion of freckles on
his nose. He was self possession per-
sonified. He appeared to the Colonel to
be one large, awkward bundle of nervous
energy, while his splendid eyes shone
with perfect health and keen intelligence.

"Oh, is this the editor? Colonel Be-
vier, I believe you are called? My name
is McBane — Donald McBane, sir. I'm
from over in the next county — been
working on a newspaper over there — but
when I saw and read the first issue of
vour Cyclone, I said to myself, 'Donald,
my boy, there's the place for you. That
man is a newspaper man, and you can
learn something of the business , working
with him,' and here I am, sir. I want to
go to work with you."

The Colonel learned that under his
former employer he was at once local re-
porter, ad and subscription solicitor, type-
setter, bookkeeper and general poobah,
and decided he might prove a valuable
addition to the Cyclone force, and so on
the following day he was sent out to

LEROY KENNEDY.

19

gather the all-important subscribers into
the fold. In the afternoon he came to
the office to report. In his arms he car-
ried a bouquet of choice flowers half as
large as a haystack.

"Well, what success?" asked the Colo-
nel cheerily.

"Only got one cash subscriber, but
several on credit — these folks object to
paying in advance — say the last fellow
collected the year's subscription in ad-
vance and only run the paper two or
three months. They
want to wait and
see if you can hold
out a year before
the y risk any
money. But say.
Colonel, ain't that
a beaut of a bou-
quet ? Loveliest
piece of calico you
ever laid eyes on
gave me that. One
of the old families,
too — treated me so
cordially I was
compelled to stay
to dinner."

The Colonel fi-
nally found an
opening to inject a
question :

"How long do
vou calculate we
can run a news-
paper on bouquets
and credit sub-
scriptions ?"

"Colonel, I guess
I did stay too long
at one place, but I
think I can improve on this day's work.
Lovely piece of calico, though, Colonel.
You could hardly expect a fellow to do
any better under the circumstances."

As summer advanced the land boom
grew apace, and incidentally the Cyclone
prospered and gained influence. Its
pages fairly brimmed over with ads of
land sales and lot auctions in the most
impossible locations. The two hotels and
the boarding houses of Steelville were
crowded with investors and speculators.
The whole country appeared to have

Col. Bcvicr, Editor.

gone land mad. Additions to Steelville
were surveyed in the woods miles from
town, an alleyway cleared through the
forest and named Pennsylvania avenue,
or something equally high-sounding, and
at the auction sales men climbed over
each other in their eagerness to buy the
25-foot lots at prices which a few days
before would have bought the entire
tract. Even Jim Beazely's "ole po' farm''
was subdivided into a town site and that
gentleman was now considering whether
Steelville was big
enough for a man
of his financial
standing and busi-
ness acumen.

During this
reign of general
prosperity the Col-
onel had taken ad-
vantage of condi-
tions to issue an il-
lustrated trade
edition of the Cy-
clone, which had
proven quite suc-
cessful financially,
and was regarded
as a brilliant stroke
of enterprise and a
great advertise-
ment for the coun-
try. One of the
most prominent
features of the edi-
tion was the large
number of por-
traits of promi-
nent men of the
town and county,
fulsome write-ups
accompanied by sketches of their
achievements, business ability and public
spirited enterprise. Only one per-
son of those whose pictures appeared
in the distinguished portrait gallery
was dissatisfied — John Bartlett, cash-
ier of the Bank of Steelville. Mr.
Bartlett declared that the portrait of him-
self was vile, slanderous — that it made
him look like a horse thief or common
criminal— and he declined to pay the
charge of $10, which had been made
"simply to cover cost of engraving," etc.

20

AN EDITOR'S REVENGE.

When Donald McBane reported this one
unpleasant feature of the big edition the
Colonel merely tossed tlie half-tone cut of
Mr. Bartlett into a drawer, said some-
thing about a sanctimonious, side-whisk-
ered hypocrite, and crossed out the ac-
count.

It was at this time that the election for
State and county officers was dividing
the attention of the people with the land
boom. It had for some time been ap-
parent to the Colonel that a very corrupt
political ring controlled the affairs of the
county, and the Colonel also knew that
if he opposed them and failed to utter-
ly rout them at the polls his career as a
journalist in Steelville would run a short
course. Believing it his duty to expose
corruption in public office, he began a
vigorous camp'aign against the ring,
whose power and influence extended to
and ended he knew not where. He, was
not much surprised, therefore, when he
was informed by two of his leading ad-
vertisers that they would be compelled to
withdraw their patronage unless he dis-
continued his attacks upon certain county
officials and advocated the re-election of
the existing officeholders. A young law-
yer came to the Colonel and informed
him that a client of his had recently pur-
chased the outstanding notes and mort-
gages on the Cyclone plant, and suggest-
ed that it might not be convenient for the
Colonel to take up these notes immediate-
ly upon their becoming due, but that if
he could see his way clear to change his
policy in regard to the re-election of the
old office-holders the little matter of the
notes could be readily adjusted.

The master mind behind this plan to
coerce the policy of the paper, the Col-
onel believed, was the cashier of the Bank
of Steelville, of whom he had formed
an instinctive distrust upon his first in-
troduction to that gentleman, which dis-
trust had been intensified by his refusal
to pay for his portrait in the trade issue
of the Cyclone.

Mr. John Bartlett, cashier of the Bank
of Steelville, was one of the foremost
men of the community — a pillar of the
church, a social and political leader, and
a tower of strength financially. He was
of imposing appearance — tall, dignified,

and wore flowing side-whiskers and a
holier-than-thou expression on his cold,
dark face.

The Colonel had used the surplus cash
accumulated on the strength of the land
boom to buy needed material for his
printing plant, depending on a promised
renewal of the purchase notes, and the
threat to foreclose was a very serious
matter. Yet he never wavered in his
fight against "the gang" which was fat-
tening at the public crib. His editorials
each week became warmer and more
pointed. They were reaching further and
further toward the high places in the
ring, and throughout the county the ring
and its methods of looting the public
treasury had become the main topic of
discussion, but the town was dumb-
founded when the Colonel, in his latest
issue, stated that Judge Kelly, of the
County Court, one of the most highly re-
spected men of the community and a rep-,
resentative of one of the oldest and most
aristocratic families of the State, was
either criminally associated with the ring
or was being used as a tool by them.

It was this stage of the fight which
greatly disturbed Donald McBane. He
was in a fever of excitement and uncer-
tainty between two allegiances : his in-
fatuation for his work and the Colonel,
and his love for Miss Kelly, the Judge's
daughter, the "lovely piece of calico"
who had loaded him with flowers at their
first meeting. He pleaded with the Col-
onel that there must be some mistake,
that a man of Judge Kelly's character
was not capable of such disreputable
transactions. Besides, the Judge was of
the old school which believed in settling
questions of honor at the point of a pis-
tol, and it might be personally dangerous
to the Colonel, Donald argued, for him
to make these charges. Even under the
threat of both financial and physical de-
struction, the Colonel never wavered.

He had anticipated and was prepared
for the meeting with the peppery Judge
Kelly, and when that gentleman came
into the Cyclone office, and in his most
dignified and noticeably courteous man-
ner requested a private interview with
the Colonel, Donald's heart sank to the
region of his boots. While Judge Kelly

LEROY KENNEDY.

21

and the Colonel were closeted together
Donald walked nervously around the
outer office waiting for the explosion,
expecting any moment to hear hot words
and a pistol shot. For an hour he was
on nettles, but not a sound came from
within. So anxious he became that he
was trying to devise some excuse for
entering the private office, when the door
opened and Judge Kelly, outwardly calm
as ever but with a white, set face, came
out, bowed to Donald and passed into the
street. The Colonel sat quite
still, looking out the window.
A musing, happy smile, illu-
minated his splendid face.
Turning around he motioned
Donald to him and explained :

"Judge Kelly has been con-
vinced that his old political
associates have become cor-
rupt and are looting the coun-
ty treasury, and that they
have abused his confidence in
inducing him to aid the se-
curing of corrupt contracts
and giving away to allies of
the ring of valuable franchis-
es which should have been a
source of revenue to the peo-
ple. He has therefore con-
sented to withdraw his name
from the regular Democratic
ticket and will head the tick-
et of the citizens' Reform
League."

Donald did a Sioux war
dance and ended by trying to
hug the Colonel, who took up
a blotter, dried the ink on a
document lying on his desk,
added it to a bundle of like
papers and carefully locked them in a
drawer.

The campaign waxed warmer, and it
now looked as if the Citizens' Reform
ticket, with Judge Kelly at its head,
would sweep the county by a large ma-
jority. That gentleman had thrown off
his habitual Southern lethargy and,
astride his old roan horse, was making a
close canvass, speaking in everv school
house and having long, confidential talks
with groups of voters who gathered
wherever he might be stopping for the

Judge Kelly,
of the County Court

night. The Judge had a very convincing
argument. He was showing the -people
how they had been robbed in the past
and how they might expect to be robbed
in the future if they retained the old
clique in office. His easy-going methods
as county judge, and his child-like confi-
dence in all mankind, had made these
steals possible, but that he had ever
profited one cent through them none be-
lieved, while his bold stand against the
grafters on the regular ticket had
aroused the people to an en-
thusiastic pitch. His elec-
tion was assured.

It was at this time that the
expected happened. The
Sheriff stepped in with a
foreclosure order and locked
the doors of the Cyclone of-
fice.

Donald, astride a strong
horse, was hurrying across
country in search of Judge
Kelly to come to the rescue,
meanwhile spreading the
news of this latest attempt of
the ring to throttle opposi-
tion.

Judge Kelly hurried to
Steelville and paid off the in-
debtedness and costs in time
for another paper to be issued
and distributed over the
country before election day.
It was glaring with big head
lines and brim full of vigor-
ous language detailing the
desperation of the ringsters
and their contemptible meth-

ods in trying to retain con-
trol of the county. This last
stroke finished the ring. The Citizens'
Reform ticket was triumphantly elected.
Simultaneously with the appearance
of a new name at the masthead of the
Cyclone reading thus : : "Bevier and
McRane, editors and proprietors," came
the news of the engagement of Mr. Don-
ald McBane and Miss Florence Kelly.
The Cyclone force, in addition to being
prosperous, was, quite happy.

The approach of winter marked the
wane of the Steelville land boom. It
died slowly, with feeble attempts, by

22

AN EDITOR'S REVENGE.

those who were likely to be left with too
much speculative land on hand, to keep
it alive. Among those who were sus-
pected of being overloaded was the cash-
ier of the Bank of Steelville. It was
known that he had been interested in
some large transactions, and was sup-
posed to have made a bunch of money
while the trading was lively, but had
been buying heavily recently, apparently
in an effort to revive the market.

Mr. Bartlett transacted the business of
the bank with his usual cold, calm dig-
nity, but Colonel Bevier detected a worn,
worried look beneath his serene exterior,
and congratulated himself that he had
removed the modest account of the Cy-
clone to the Farmers and Merchants'
Bank during the heat of the campaign
and fight against the paper. In view of
these suspicions he was not surprised
when, a few mornings later, as he came
out of the breakfast room at the hote],
he heard a group of men discussing the
bank's affairs and fully predicting a run
on the bank's funds as soon as the doors
should open.

Long before the bank's doors opened
an excited crowd of depositors and idlers
were surging back and forth in front of
the building, many with bank books and
checks in their hands. The run was on.

"I hope she can stand the strain,"
thought the Colonel, as he watched the
excited crowd. "Many will suffer if the
bank is forced to the wall."

As the hour for opening approached
cooler heads among them formed the
people into a long line, and soon the
doors were opened bv old Uncle Randall,
black-faced and white-haired, bowing
deferentially.

Mr. Bartlett, his cold face framed by
a small window in the wire netting
composing his cage, took each check with
his usual nod of recognition to the cus-
tomer, examined it carefully, turned to
a bookkeeper in the rear and waited for
each account to be verified, after which
he methodically counted out the currency
— invariably currency — recounted it and
shoved it through the window. Mr.
Bartlett was paying as slowly as he dared
yet showing no sign of fear on account
of the run,

Before opening the doors that morning
the cashier had assured the president and
several of the directors that the bank
could stand the run, and expressing his
confidence that it would not be serious
and would not last to the breaking point.

As the day wore on and the bank con-
tinued to pay off deposits in full with-
out objection a reaction seemed to be
gradually taking place in the feelings of
the people. A long line of sealed canvas
bags, each marked "$500 — silver," con-
spicuously displayed on shelves each side
of the vault door behind the cashier, had
much to do with this gradual return of
confidence.

Jim Beazely, no longer County Clerk
Jim Beazely, but James Beazely, capital-
ist, came out of the bank and laughed at
the troubled line of depositors for trying
to take their money out of the soundest
bank in Alabama.

"Why, sir, they've got enough paper
money in thar to burn up a wet mule, and
as fer silver, sir, you can see fer your-
self. Go in thar and look at the slathers
of bags full of silver dollars adorning of
that back shelf. Why, Bartlett ain't to
be ketched nappin', let me tell you. He
had a lot of that stuff shipped in by ex-
press jest especially fer this here occas-
ion. He knowed hit was a-comin'."

This unusually long speech for Jim
Beazely had been delivered ostensibly to
'Squire White, but in a loud voice that
all might hear. Confidence was begin-
ning to return, and Beazely materially
aided matters. A few fell out of line
and went into the bank to look around,
most of whom came back talking confi-
dence. Some who had drawn their money
slipped back into the bank and with a
few words of apology to Mr. Bartlett, re-
deposited. But enough hard-headed, de-
termined ones hung on to make the line
look very formidable up to the closing
hour, when it took the combined efforts
of the Sheriff and his deputies to clear
the bank and close the doors. Directors
and officers of the bank were mixing
with the people in the street industri-
ously trying to restore confidence, but
it was evident that the run would be re-
sumed tlie following day.

A meeting of the board of directors

LEROY KENNED^*,

23

was called for the early evening, at which
ways and means were to he devised for
stemming the tide. The meeting was de-
layed, waiting for Cashier Bartlett to
return from dinner. The directors were
getting restless. A messenger was dis-
patched to Mr. Bartlett's home, who re-
ported that he had heen unable to see
him, as that gentleman had been taken
suddenly ill. A moment later Judge

Kelly was called to the

door and returned accom-
panied by Donald McBane.
The Judge asked him to re-
peat his message to the as-
sembled directors.

"Colonel Bevier desired
me to come to the bank and
inform Judge Kelly that
Cashier Bartlett left his
home in a buggy more than
an hour ago, and was driv-
ing 'cross country."

For a full two minutes
every member of the board
sat perfectly dumb, looking
from one to the other in
amazement. Then the pres-
ident suggested that the
vault be examined. A hur-
ried search revealed only a
small amount of currency,
and a count was being
made of the bags contain-
ing silver dollars when one
of the younger members of
the board, with an oath,
whipped out a pocket knife
and cut open one of the
bags. Instead of silver dol-
lars iron washers of the
same size and thickness,
with a hole in the middle,
roled upon the table. Cash-
ier Bartlett's plan to create confidence
and prevent a run on the bank had failed.
He had converted the bank's silver into
currency, and the currency was missing.

Soon the telegraph wires were being
crowded in an effort to head off Mr.
Bartlett. The Sheriff was called into
consultation and authorized . to offer a
reward of $1,000 for the capture of the
fleeing cashier.

Meanwhile, Colonel Bevier was not

John Bartlett

idle, lie had summoned his printers to
the office, and was searching systemati-
cally through boxes and drawers filled
with discarded cuts of all conceivable ob-
jects. At last he found what he sought.
It was the old half-tone portrait of Cash-
ier Bartlett used in the boom edition of
the Cyclone, and for which that gentle-
man had refused to pay. Soon the Cy-
clone's one job press was running fur-
iously turning out flaming
handbills announcing $1,-
000 reward for the arrest
of John Bartlett. Follow-
ing his portrait was a per-
sonal description written
by the Colonel and signed
by the Sheriff. A half doz-
en young men were press-
ed into service, addressing
envelopes, and the morning
mail was the largest which
had ever left Steelville.
The South and West was
covered with a storm of
white hand bills.

There were two busy
places in Steelville that
night, the bank and the Cy-
clone office. At both men
worked feverishly far into
the night. When morn-
ing came it was known
that the bank would not
open for business. It had
been stripped. Later a
notice was posted to the ef-
fect that the bank had gone
into the hands of a receiv-
er.

On the public square, in
front of the bank, the
scenes were heartrending.
Sad-eyed women moaned
and wrung their hands helplessly.
Groups of men talked in low tones, but
stood in gloomy silence when a stran-
ger came near. Some of the more de-
termined went home and put fresh loads
in the old cap and ball six-shooter.
Farmers rode in from the country with
squirrel rifles across their saddle bows.
It boded evil for Mr. Bartlett should he
be located before the passions of the
people had time to cool.

24

AN EDITOR'S REVENGE.

Several days passed and it was feared
Mr. Bartlett had made good his escape,
when the Steelville Sheriff received a
telegram from the Sheriff of a border
county in Texas, and brought it to the
Colonel. It read.

"Nipped your man as he was starting
across the Rio Grande for Mexico. Had
$60,000 in grip. Recognized him from
picture on your hand bill. Come and
get him."

"Aha, and that vile picture makes you
look like a common horse thief, does it,
Mr. Bartlett?" mused the Colonel.

Money and the best legal talent had
secured postponements and mistrials, but
the final trial of the State of Alabama
vs. John Bartlett was on in the Circuit
Court at Steelville. There was deep in-
terest in the case. Crowds thronged the
Court House and public square.

In the court room at the prisoner's side
sat a sad, brown-eyed woman, on whom
grief had laid a heavy hand. Two bright
children, a boy and a girl, were near.
The court room was literally packed with
a restless mass of people, for word had
leaked out that the jury had agreed and
would shortly come in with a verdict. A
door opens and the jury filed in. The
crowd became hushed, but not still
enough for all to hear the foreman of the
jury answer: "Guilty," and then the
sentence of ten years. An audible mur-
mur arose, which was sternly hushed by
the judge.

Colonel Brevier was pushing his way
toward a door, to leave tne court room,
when he heard the convulsive sob of a
heart-broken woman. He looked back.
The prisoner was standing erect, pale,
cold and haughty. The slight, brown-
eved woman had hid her face upon his

breast and was sobbing softly. The two
children clung to her skirts and looked
distrustfully at the gaping crowd. The
setting sun cast a long, slanting, copper-
colored ray through a window and rested
upon the head of the sobbing woman
like a benediction. All this the Colonel
saw through misty eyes, and pushed his
way to the door. The sweetness had
gone out of his revenge. He was mus-
ing.

"A man cannot commit a crime so
black but that he is still a hero to some
woman ; no scoundrel so degraded but
that some sweet, true woman is dragged
to the depths by his fall."

The Colonel went slowly up the stairs
and into the Cyclone office, where he
told Donald of the verdict, and his next
words almost took that young man off
his feet:

"Donald, my boy, do you want to be
editor-in-chief and sole proprietor of the
Cyclone ? Well, it's this way: I've got
a longing for the road again ; it just can't
be controlled. I am sick for a sight of
the old haunts in town — the push and
hurry of a big morning paper — the glare
of the midnight lights. It comes upon
me like a fever — I must go back to the
old life, my boy. We've done fairly well
for the first year of a country paper and
have a small working capital in the Far-
mers and Merchants'. I'll take a hun-
dred of that for immediate necessities
and leave the balance for you to maintain
the dignity of the Cyclone and puW her
through possible tight places. Good bye ;
keep the old nag up to a high standard,
and shoot it to the grafters double leaded
whenever they show signs of life."

Before Donald could get his breath and
the power of speech, the Colonel was
gone.

ffhe View Hear

•JLAJIj! the happy New Year —
Smiling, full of grace,
With a look of wonder

On his baby face;
Empty-handed comes he —

Merry little king,
Yet his gay attendants

Gifts, unbounded, bring.

Snow for winter frolics,

Springtime smiles and showers,
Yielding, for their harvest,

Summer fruits and flowers;
Golden stores of autumn —

Can they be more dear
Than the sprig of holly

Showing Christmas cheer?

Joyous days await us;

Griefs, too, ice shall meet;
Oft a taste of bitter

Makes the sweet more sweet;
So we will not falter

But, with voices clear,
Sing a song of welcome

To the glad New Year!

Frank H. Sweet

THE CRUISE OF THE GOLD SHIPS

By JOHN L. COWAN

URELY no stranger ships
ever sailed the salt seas
than those that now cruise
back and forth over the
arid plains, the mountain
parks and the broad val-
leys of the West, carrying their lakes
with them, and devastating orange
groves and olive orchards, waving grain
fields and deserts of sage and sand. The
cargoes they collect are richer than were
ever borne by Spanish galleons from the
New World to the Old; and their de-
structive career is not inaptly compara-
ble to that of the black, piratic craft of
the buccaneers of by gone years. Strang-
er than any flights of fancy emanating
from the busy brains of novelists and
romancers are these creations of modern
mining engineers — the Gold Ships of the
Plains.

Dredging for gold is by no means a
new idea, although some of the most re-
cent developments of the industry are so
novel as to be almost startling. The idea
first developed into practical importance
in New Zealand — that land of experi-
ment in politics, in government and in
industry. There dredging for gold has
been successfully carried on for more
than twenty years. The beds of many
of the sluggish rivers of that country
are composed of auriferous sands and
sediments. Up and down these rivers
the first gold dredges plied, bringing up
the sands from the bottom and washing
out the precious particles mingled there-
in. In this, however, there was nothing
startling, or calculated to make any par-
ticular appeal to the imagination. It
was little more than an adaptation of the
sand dredges, such as may be seen on
any inland river or shallow harbor, with
the addition of some of the machinery
and appliances used by hydraulic min-
ers.

However, there were known to be
thousands of square miles of alluvial
flats, sand banks and bars, old beaches
left high and dry by receding waters,

swamps and abandoned placer diggings,
all containing considerable quantities of
gold, but unavailable for dredging oper-
ations because there was not sufficient
water to float the dredges. The devising
of methods of working these is the Amer-
ican contribution to the gold dredging in-
dustry— a contribution so important that
authorities look for a revolutionary in-
crease in the world's annual gold output
from this source. It was stated by Pro-
Jessor J. S. Newberry twenty years ago
that nine-tenths of all the gold then in
use in the world had been derived from
placer mines. For the last fifteen years
these figures might almost be reversed.
Not far from nine-tenths of all the new
gold produced in that time has come from
quartz mines. Placer mining will never
be restored to its former overshadowing
importance, but the gold dredges may
ultimately produce almost as much gold
annually as the quartz mines.

One observer has described a gold
dredge as a combination of hoisting der-
rick, steamboat and warship. Some of
them have the height and bulk of a Mis-
sissippi river packet, with room enough
for the big guns, the sailors and the
marines of a battleship. To transport
one of these huge, amphibious monsters,
one hundred feet or more in length, and
weighing many hundreds of tons, across
plains and over mountains would be a
task impossible of accomplishment. Un-
less they are to operate in the bed of a
river, it is necessary to build them in the
place where they are to work. Machin-
ery, iron work, lumber and tools are con-
veyed by rail, on wagons, or on the backs
of patient burros to the place desired.
Then, wherever that place may be,
whether far out on the plains, in the
heart of the desert, or in some deep val-
ley, girt in by snow covered mountains,
with no navigable sea, lake or river with-
in a distance of hundreds of miles, tem-
porary dock yards are built for the con-
struction of these ships that sail on land.
Hammer and saw wake the echoes in

28

THT CRUISE OE THE GOLD SHIPS.

regions that never before heard these
sounds of industrial life ; and, after
months of labor, the gold ship is com-
pleted, the machinery placed in position,
and the dredge made ready for launch-
ing. But one thing is lacking. That is
water.

Perhaps there is an irrigating ditch,
or a lake, or a river, or an artesian well,
or a mountain stream at no great dis-
tance, from which water in sufficient
quantities can be pumped. If not, a ditch
is dug, a Hume constructed, or a well
drilled in order to give the stranded
monster a drink. Out in Wyoming at
the present time vast sums of money are
being expended digging ditches and
building flumes to carry water for a dis-
tance of forty miles, across the Bear
river divide, to a fleet of gold dredges
that will soon be ready for work. As
soon as water is supplied the great ma-
chine begins to dig. Soon it has exca-
vated a deep hole into which it slides,
still excavating a little deeper ahead un-
til it reaches bed-rock — which may be
sixty feet below the surface. In most
localities, before the excavating has pro-
ceeded very far, the underground waters
seep in and help float the vessel. Then
it begins its remarkable journey, carry-
ing its lake with it. The little lake never
overflows. Only enough water is pump-
ed in to keep it at the desired level, and
the same water is used again and again
in the washing of the sands.

The work of excavating is performed
by an endless chain of steel buckets, or
scoops. Each of these has a sharp cut-
ting steel edge that bites into the bot-
tom and sides of the miniature lake and
brings a full load of sand and gravel to
the surface. The buckets dump the ma-
terial into a hopper that discharges it
upon a revolving screen. This rolls the
large stones and boulders down into a
chute that empties them upon the heap
of tailings in the rear. Every minute
more than a thousand gallons of water
are pumped upon the screen, winnowing
the sand and gravel in much the same
manner as did the pans, cradles and
sluices of the old time placer miners,
only infinitely more quickly and efficient-
ly. The finer material sifts through the

top screen to perforated screens of finer
mesh beneath, and the finest of all to
riffled tables. These are covered with
sheet copper, and the copper -is coated
with mercury, with which the fine par-
ticles of gold amalgamate. Cocoanut
mattings are used to catch the larger
grains of gold, then being washed in a
tank and the sediment put through an
amalgamator. After all the gold has
been extracted the sand is elevated to
the top and thrown out on the dump
along with the stones and boulders, fill-
ing up the lake behind the dredge as
rapidly as it is excavated in front. In
this way the lake is prevented from
growing larger, and is moved forward
along with the strange craft that floats
on its bosom.

While some of the dredges thus float
like any other, boat, the method of pro-
gression of others may be described as
walking, more accurately' than as either
floating or sailing. They are provided ,
with two giant steel legs, called "spuds,"
which reach to the bottom of the artifi-
cial lake. On one of the spuds the
dredge rests as a pivot, while it is an-
chored to the shore in such a way that it
may be swung from side to side. When
the vessel is to be moved forward, the
other spud is lowered to the bottom, and
the dredge is drawn forward to rest on
it. It, therefore, walks like any living
biped, and balances itself on one long leg
like a stork. There are dredges in oper-
ation in the western states that do as
much work as could be performed by
three thousand men and a score of
horses. Many of them cost from $75,000
to $100,000 each. Some are lighted
and operated by electricity, and work
night and day. The cost of handling
the sand and rock is less than five cents
a ton, so that if there is only one cent's
worth of gold to the cubic foot of mater-
ial it can be worked with a tempting mar-
gin of profit. If one were to take the
twentieth part of a tiny gold dollar, re-
duce it to a fine powder, and then mix
it through a ton of earth, he would
doubtless think he had placed the parti-
cles of gold beyond all possibility of re-
covery. Or if one were to take a single
ounce of gold dust and scatter it through

3°

THT CRUISE OF THE GOLD SHIPS.

twenty car loads of sand and gravel, each
car load containing forty thousand
pounds, he would probably fancy that
no human power could again collect
those golden grains. Yet that is pre-
cisely the kind of work performed by the
gold dredges. It is not only possible, but
also profitable that hundreds of these
vessels are at work in various portions
of the world. This is the lastest and most
wonderful development of the basic in-
dustry of gold mining. It is a striking
example of the value of little things ; an
illustration of the conquest of mind over
matter, of the marvels performed by ma-
chinery.

Gold is one of the most widely dis-
tributed of metals. The fact seems to be
almost forgotten that in 1812 a consider-
able number of men earned sixty cents
a day washing gold on the banks of the
Delaware river, where the city of Ches-
ter now stands. It is probably true that
the gold in the soil under Philadelphia
is worth more than the total valuation of
the city. Now it is not meant by this
to intimate that the sands of the Delaware
river will ever again be washed for gold,
but simply to suggest the probability,
amounting almost to a certainty, that
gold dredging operations will some day
be conducted in regions now never
thought as possible gold producers. Un-
successful gold mines have repeatedly
been opened in the Allegheny and Blue
Ridge mountains. There is gold in al-
most every mile of the Appalachian
chain. North of the state of North
Carolina the amount found has always
fallen just a little short of being sufficient
to justify operations. Farther south is
the oldest producing gold field in the
United States. From New York to
Georgia are tens of thousands of square
miles of alluvial deposits containing gold
in considerable quantities. To what ex-
tent these will be worked by the gold
dredges, it is, of course, impossible to
foretell. On the Chestatee river, in
Georgia, an experimental dredge has
given so good an account of itself that
the Appalachian fleet of gold ships is sure
to grow to considerable proportions.

Wherever placer mining is or has been
practiced, the gold dredge is almost cer-

tain to follow. Every western state in
which gold mining is followed is known
to contain large areas of land in which
dredging operations can be conducted
with hardly a chance of failure. Places
in which hydraulic mining is impossible
on account of the scanty water supply or
other local conditions, old placer camps
that have long since been washed over by
eager miners with their pans and cradles
and sluices, and great areas of auriferous
sands that contained too little gold to
justify working by the wasteful methods
of the past, are now the scene of unprece-
dented activity. What has happened at
Oroville, California, and at Bannack,
Montana, is certain to happen in scores
of other western mining fields that were
pronounced "worked out" more than a
generation ago. The Forty-niners washed
the sands on the banks of the Feather
river as long as they were able to make a
living, and then departed for fairer fields.
After them came the Chinese — an eager
army of at least ten thousand of them
swarming over the old diggings that the
white miners had pronounced worked
out. By and by the sands ceased to
yield enough of the yellow metal to
satisfy even the modest demands of the
patient Celestials, and they, too, went
their way. Then came the hydraulic
miners, turning tremendous jets of water
against the yielding banks of sand, and
eating the very heart out of the valley.
When these left Oroville, it seemed that
surely its life as a mining camp was
ended forever, and the remaining resi-
dents of the valley of Feather river turn-
ed their attention to less spectacular pur-
suits. The fields were levelled, dams
were built, irrigating ditches were dug,
groves of orange and olive trees were
planted, and the days of the gold mines
faded into dim memories, clouded over
by myths and traditions. Through the
lifetime of a generation agriculture and
fruit growing flourished to the exclusion
of all other pursuits, and the camps of
the early Argonauts became the scenes
of fertile farms and productive orchards.
Then came the gold dredges. The
first successful vessel of this description
in America was put in operation near
Oroville in 1896. It demonstrated that

C}

S

a.

^3

32

THT CRUISE OF THE GOLD SHIPS.

the sand? that had already thrice been
pronounced "worked out' still contained
more millions than had ever been taken
from them. Every year more and larg-
er vessels have been added to the fleet
cruising in the neighborhood, until there
are now thirty gold ships in commission
in the Oroville district. It is estimated
that the 7,500 acres of territory there
that has been thoroughly prospected will
yield not less than $60,000,000. For
fruit growing purposes the land is valued
at $1,000 an acre. The gold dredge ex-
tracts $8,000 in gleaming gold from the
same small patch of territory. Each
dredge works from half an acre to an
acre of land in a month. In the United
States there are not less than 150 such
dredges in operation, with probably 50
more being constructed. This means
that last year not less than 1,000 acres
of land was rendered forever unfit for
agricultural pursuits. Each year the
amount permanently devastated will in-
crease. True, some of it is desert and
waste land, swamps, sea beaches and
sand bars that would probably never be
of any economic use to mankind apart
from the precious metals it contains. On
the other hand, some is included in the
most valuable and productive agricul-
tural lands on the continent, and future
generations may bitterly lament the short
sighted policy that permitted their irre-
trievable ruin. An expert engineer sent
to California by the National Govern-
ment to investigate the destruction of
valuable agricultural lands recommends
the passing of laws requiring the gold
dredging companies to install on each
boat sand pumps to pump the fertile soil
that lies on and near the surface of the
ground upon the top of the dumps, so as
to leave it available for agriculture. This
would leave the fertility of the land un-
impaired after the gold had been ex-
tracted. It is even regarded as possible
that the orchards of the Oroville district
could be transplanted to another place,
and replanted in the same fields after the
gold ships have passed.

Strikingly similar to the history of the
Oroville mining territory is that of the
Grasshopper Creek district of Montana.
The rich gold-bearing bars and banks
of the creek and its tributaries were long
ago worked by the pans, cradles and
sluices of the pioneer miners, and Ban-
nack — the first capital of the territory — ■
became one of the great gold camps of
the West. After the pioneers came the
Chinese, and they were succeeded in
time by hydraulic methods, and then
Bannack was deserted, it seemed, for-
ever. In 1895 its star again began to
rise, when an experimental dredge was
built in the creek bed. It proved a fail-
ure, but it indicated the way by which
success might be attained, and Bannack
is again one of the great placer gold
fields of America.

Nearly all of the gold producing states
of western America contain immense
areas of land carrying considerable val-
ues in gold. These will be the scenes of
operation for great fleets of' the gold
ships in coming years. The proven
placer fields of North America extend
from the Seward Peninsula of Alaska
the whole way to the Isthmus of Panama.
The Frazier, Mackenzie and Yukon
rivers and their tributaries flow through
alluvial flats for a distance of two thou-
sand miles — nearly every mile of which
is regarded as promising dredging terri-
tory. In Oregon, Washington, Utah,
Wyoming, South Dakota, Colorado,
New Mexico, Arizona and Nevada the
gold ships have already been launched.
Mexico, Central America, South Ameri-
ca, Africa, Madagascar, Borneo, British
India, the Malay Peninsula, Siberia,
China and almost all known gold-produc-
ing countries contain river flats, sea
beaches, swamps or sand bars that can be
profitably worked by' gold dredges, but
by no other means. This latest form of
gold mining, therefore, is yet only in
its green and callow youth. In the years
of the immediate future it will contribute
untold millions to the rising tide of gold.

Trie most fascinating thing about a woman is the delightful state of expect-
ancy she keeps us in as to what to do next.

WORDS WRITTEN IN WAX

By GORDON GREY

HE fading light of an In-
dian summer day fell in
level rays upon a graceful,
tailor-made girl, leaning
against a Fairfield fence-
corner, and the evening
breezes gently stirred the fluffy tendrils
of hair beneath the tilted brim of her
stylish hat.

Beside her, gazing earnestly into her
mischievous eyes, stood a young man —
erect, clear-cut, clean-shaven — attired in
a neat business suit. Decision was de-
picted in every line of his handsome
face and figure, declaring that he knew
his own mind — even though he feared
to speak it. And because he dared not
bare his inmost soul he was an enigma to
the girl, as many men have been to other
women — and men too. One of the only
four things that vexed the understanding
of Agur the Prophet was the way of a
man with a maid.

"Well," the young woman said at
length, straightening herself and her
gloves, as the conversation drifted as
far as ever into generalities, "I must
hurry home to supper, or mother '11
think I'm lost. I suppose I shan't see
you to-morrow evening?''

"No, Nettie — an aunt of mine is re-
turning here, and I have to meet her at
the station."

"Oh, all right, Rod. Good evening;
I'll see you in the office in the morning!"
and with what seemed to him a some-
what petulant nod Nettie Lane swung
around the corner of the village street
and disappeared.

Rodney Royce, at twenty-five, had
risen to the position of chief correspond-
ence clerk in the offices where Annette
Lane daily manipulated the keys of a
type-writer, and of all the girls, not only
in that establishment, but in the entire
village and surrounding country, she was
to him the* sweetest and best And he
had always dwelt there, although his
aunt, Miss Dorothy Rodney had been ab-
sent for many years. Her departure,

when he was a child of five or six, he had
always understood to have been both
mysterious and romantic. Her return,
no less abrupt, appeared to lack any ele-
ment of mystery, although its occasion,
the inheritance of a neat fortune from a
remote relative, might be considered ro-
mantic. It seemed so to Rodney Royce,
who could Hot dismiss a hope that some
such stroke of luck might enable him to
confess his love for Nettie Lane.

The afternoon following their chat at
the street corner was balmy again with
the breath of Indian summer. For fif-
teen minutes the monotonous sound of
old Watson Weld's raucous voice, dic-
tating letters into a phonograph, had been
heard proceeding from his inner pri-
vate office. The hour was advanced,
the postman's last round unaccountably
late, and the head of the American Lig-
noid Company sat, with suit-case packed,
awaiting an important business letter.
Of course, he might call up his corre-
spondent on the long-distance, but there
were politic reasons for refraining from
an undue display of haste.

The droning sound ceased at length,
and was succeeded by the fitful creak-
ing of a swivel chair, indicating to the
office staff by a sort of wireless telegra-
phy that their chief was in a state of
mind. There was an exchange of mean-
ing looks among the clerks in the outer
office. Young Watson Weld — with a
conspicuous lack of filial reverence made
an audible comment which caused a
general titter to run around, so very
clever was the young scamp's imitation
of the paternal voice and manner.

Rodney Royce glanced at the clock
and tapped impatiently upon his desk
with the ear tube o'c his phonograph,
sighing for the wax-coated recording
cylinder detained in the inner office.
With a sudden air of resolution he arose
and entered the private office, returning
with a flushed and disconcerted face that
plainly spoke of rude rebuff.

But, if his employer's reception had

34

WORDS WRITTEN IN WAX.

been ungracious on this occasion, the
sympathetic manner of Nettie Lane was
not. Her habitual treatment of Royce,
in marked contrast to that which she
accorded the younger Weld, had become
a matter of comment in the office, where
the other young women could not con-
ceal their astonishment at the coolness
with which she had met the advances of
a college-bred heir to millions. Young
Weld had frankly avowed to Royce his
opinion that Nettie was the most "stun-
ning" girl he had met since leaving col-
lege, though it would hardly be true to
say that he believed himself to be a jeal-
ous rival of one whom he secretly con-
sidered to be in every way his inferior.

But it is not strange that he had a
watchful eye and ear for the swift, sig-
nificant communication that passed be-
tween Rodney and Nettie, the girl offer-
ing to do the man's work if the obstinacy
of the "Old Man" should detain him be-
yond the customary hour. She knew
that Royce wished to leave the office
early that afternoon on his aunt's ac-
count, and his uneasiness and impati-
ence to be gone were plainly evident to
others. Ordinarily, young Weld would
have been indifferent to the correspond-
ence clerk's movements, but in this par-
ticular instance the quick ear of jealousy
had caught a word that aroused another
and scarcely less virulent phase of the
green-eyed malady ; young Watson
heard Royce make mention of his aunt.

Now, the image of Royce's aunt had
become a growing menace to young
Weld's peace of mind since the day of
his graduation — in fact, since class-day
— when, much to his astonishment, Miss
Rodney bad appeared with his father as
a guest at his elaborate "spread" and was
presented as "a very old friend."

His displeasure at the presence of "the
skeleton at the feast," as he privately de-
nominated the slender ladv in gun metal
silk and rich old lace, might have proved
but temporary, but his antipathy to "that
scheming old cat" as he came to call her
later after his return home, crystalized
into a confirmed hostility when he be-
came convinced that, if matters went on
as they had been going, he would event-
ually have Miss Rodney for a step-

mother. This prospect was so distaste-
ful as to put a still finer point upon the
acute interest with which he regarded
both aunt and nephew.

While listening to the whispered con-
fidences of Royce to Miss Lane, won-
dering vaguely what pressing reason
called the clerk away to his aunt, and
once more summing up mentally his ob-
jections to the Rodney connection in all
its aspects, he saw the outer door open
and the letter carrier thrust a bunch of
mail matter into the office boy's hands.
From his post of observation, between
the outer and inner offices and near the
partially opened sash communicating be-
tween them, he could see and hear near-
ly everything that took place in both.

He watched his father run rapidly
through the parcel of mail, roughly sort-
ing it as he went ; he saw him slip a dainty
missive into his pocket, and continue his
search for the expected business letter ;
he heard the grunt of satisfied expectan-
cy which told of its discovery, and he
studied the parental countenance in vary-
ing moods during its perusal. A petul-
ant push at an electric button seemed to
punctuate its close.

He could not hear the bell actuated by
that button, but, through another glazed
sash, opposite the one beside him, he
could watch the approach of the man-
ager of the works, whom it summoned,
and let his eye travel along the dwindling
perspective of belting, shafting and pul-
leys that framed a vista of one of the
departments of the Lignoid works.

"See here, Jordan," was the senior
Weld's abrupt greeting to the newcomer,
"Nillson of the Newaygo Furniture Co.
says our price for that two tons of
table trimmings, Lignoid B 22, is three
cents a pound too high ! Did you verify
the estimates I gave you?"

"Yes, sir, to the last cent. That there
trimming stuff can't be made a frac-
tion of a cent cheaper and show any
profit for us. And Nillson can't get
none any cheaper, neither." ,

"All right. Of course we won't turn
out goods at a loss when the other fel-
low can't buy any cheaper substitute. I
was in hopes of landing that order be-
fore I leave town, but it will have to go

GORDON GREY.

35

over now till I get back — I'll try to keep
him on the string."

"What will you tell him?"

"Oh, the usual thing. Decline his pro-
posal with thanks and hope for continued
pleasant relations. That will bring him
to time."

And, while the manager returned to
his remote domain, the burly manufact-
urer swung his swivel-chair with another
nervous creak, and again settled himself
before the mouth-piece of his phono-
graph.

Young Weld had listened intently to
every word of this brief colloquy, and his
eyes lighted up with a peculiar gleam
at his father's share in the conversation.
He heard the preliminary buzz of the
instrument as the recorder was set in mo-
tion, and then the distinctly enunciated
address of the proposed letter — "Lars
Nillson, Esq., Manager Newaygo Furni-
ture Company, Newaygo, Wis., Dear
Sir:" Scarcely had the word "Sir"
been followed by the inevitable "Ahem!"
which heralded the beginning of the
body of the letter, when the young man
reached a resolution and acted upon it
without a second's delay. Putting his
head to the sash opening he called sharp-
ly "Dad!"

As he had expected, his father paused
and, with a grunt of enquiry shut off the
phonograph. Young Weld pointed
eagerly to the window giving upon the
workshop, slipped from his stool and
entered the private office, closing the
door behind him.

"What's the matter?" demanded the
elder Weld, "What do you want?"

"Just look at the way that fartherest
shaft wabbles !" exclaimed the son, keep-
ing his father's .attention fixed upon the
workshop window, "It carries the belt of
the big moulding machine, and it looks
assif it would fly off at any minute."

Mr. Weld whirled his chair completely
around, arose, and peered intently in the
direction indicated. His eyesight was
not of .the best and, while he was forced
to wear glasses in reading and writing,
he had that very common horror of spec-
tacles which prompts so many near-
sighted persons to dispense with them in
public. He could scarcely distinguish

the pulley of the moulding machine in
the distance.

"Better see Jordan about it, father!"
prompted his son.

With another impatient grunt the old
man left the room and the young one,
hurriedly taking his place at the phono-
graph, finished the dictation of a short
letter to the address already recorded
upon the wax-covered cylinder. Then
he began another letter, by dictating into
the instrument a quite different address.

Three minutes afterwards, when he
was again upon his high stool, his father
informed him in an angry tone that Jor-
dan said there was nothing the matter
with the shaft of the moulding machine.

Then the elder Weld, after a brief dic-
tation into the phonograph, called Rod-
ney Royce to take out the cylinder and
transcribe it, seized his suit-case and
hastily took his departure. No sooner
had he gone than Royce, slipping the
cylinder upon his own phonograph, and
signing to Nettie Lane to take his place,
also hurried from the office. Young
Weld watched all these proceedings with
the eye of approval.

% $ 2fc ^c *

A week had passed, the head of the
Lignoid Company had returned from
his trip and was again at his desk, and
the scratching of pens and tapping of
typewriters rilled the outer office with its
accustomed hum.

A timid knock on the outer door was
answered rather slowly by the office boy.
accustomed to see callers throw it open
unceremoniously and enter unbidden. Ev-
ery eye was attracted to the unwonted
spectacle when the visitor was seen to be a
quiet but stylishly attired lady who, with
a low-toned message, handed the boy a
visiting card, and the optical battery
thus constituted pursued its target with
inquisitorial shafts until it disappeared
behind the Old Man's ground-glass door.
The inquisitive eyes and receptive ears
accordingly missed the very unusual
scene that was about to be enacted.

"Why, Dorothy !— Miss Rodney! This
is an unexpected pleasure ! Take this
seat," exclaimed old Watson Weld.

"Thank you," replied his visitor frost-
ily, as she seated herself. "I don't doubt

&

WORDS WRITTEN TN WAX.

it is unexpected, but I do doubt if it can
be a pleasure, under the circumstances !"

"My dear Miss Rodney!" he ejaculat-
ed, a look of amazement spreading over
his expansive countenance. "What do
you mean? I can't tell you how sur-
prised I am." ,

"Umph ! You know well enough what
I mean, but of course you are surprised.
You never supposed for a moment that
any woman with the least feeling of
delicacy or a remnant of self-respect
would ever speak to you again — but you
will find that I am an exceptional woman
■ — in that respect, at least."

Watson Weld gazed straight at Miss
Rodney for a full five seconds, his face
running a chromatic scale from red to
white and back again, with staccato notes
of purple and green. At length he said :

"I am at a loss to understand what
you mean — you really will have to be
more explicit."

"Very well, then!" snapped Dorothy
Rodney, "To be explicit, what vestige of
an excuse have you to offer for the gratu-
itous and insulting assumption you make
in your letter?"

"Letter !" he exclaimed, with an air of
growing perplexity, "What letter?"

A characteristically feminine retort
was on the end of Miss Rodney's tongue,
when she suddenly recollected that she
had determined to make this a strictly
business interview and conduct it on
masculine models. She therefore an-
swered with suppressed indignation but
an almost painfully affected air of pre-
cision.

"The letter written upon a Lignoid
Company's letter-head, dated October 9,
1903, addressed to me and signed by
you."

"Miss Rodney," said her elderly ad-
mirer, after a second's pause as if steady-
ing himself in an effort to be equally ex-
act, "I have never written to you on my
business letter-heads, neither on October
oth nor any other date. My notes to you,
as you know, have been few, but they
invariably have been written on my Near-
wood stationery, and I will take this op-
portunity of apologizing for leaving un-
answered a note from you which I re-
ceived at the moment of my departure

on the business trip from which I re-
turned only this morning."

Miss Rodney started. The deliberate,
almost cold character of this reply had
evidently produced an impression, but in
a manner nearly as composed and precise
she returned :

"Notwithstanding those facts, I re-
ceived such a letter, purporting to be
written at your dictation, and bearing
your signature, or a fac-simile."

Watson Weld touched one of the nu-
merous buttons near his hand and the
summons was answered by the office-boy,
to whom he said :

"Ask Mr. Royce to step in here with
the letter copy file for October 9th. Re-
member, October 9th."

Not a word was spoken until the letter
file had been brought and Weld had nerv-
ously thumbed the flimsy tissue sheets
until the address he sought was found.
Not a word even was exchanged between
Miss Rodney and her astonished nephew.
An air of constraint and expectancy per-
vaded the little office.

The. si1ence was broken by Mr. Weld,
after he had read one brief letter. With
a purple flush and a black frown he thrust
it into Rodney's hands and inquired
sharply :

"How came that letter on this file?"

Royce looked at the letter, and in
turn his expression underwent startling
changes of wonder and apprehension.

"I — I don't know, sir," he answered.

"Who else should know?" snarled his
employer, relapsing into his ordinary of-
fice manner. "Didn't you transcribe it?"

"No, sir."

"Then who did?"

Royce, reflecting rapidly on all the
possible consequences of- any answer he
might make, replied simply :

"I can't say."

"Why can't you say? Didn't you
transcribe and typewrite all my phono-
graph letters on that day-— October 9th ?"

"No, sir."

"You didn't !" cried the old man, more
astonished than ever. "Then who else
did ?"

"One of the young ladies. I was called
nut on — er — very urgent business," an-
swered Royce — looking out of the corner

cor no x GREY.

37

of an eye at his aunt — "and she offered to
write out the letters for me."

"Ha!" snorted Weld. "Now we are
getting something. Who was it?"

"Miss Lane, sir."

Again push-button and office-boy per-
formed their duties, and Nettie Lane
joined the tense and excited group.

"Will you have the kindness to look
at this letter, Miss Lane," growled Weld
with ominously elaborate courtesy, "and
tell me under what circumstances you
came to transcribe, sign and mail it?"

Nettie Lane in turn read the letter,
and, as the others had done, betrayed
amazement and fear as she gazed from
her employer to his visitor, whom she
had never seen before and did not know
by name. Collecting herself, and watch-
ing each of those present as she pro-
ceeded, she said :

"It is one of several letters that I took
from Mr. Royce's phonograph, at his
request. He told me to take them on
my typewriter, sign them with your
stamp and put them in the mail."

"Oh ! Just look through these other
letters and see if they are the ones you
look."

"Yes, sir, they are," replied Miss Lane,
complying with his request.

"Now, will you be kind enough to tell
me if you mean to say that you took each
and every one of those letters from a
phonographic record, dictated in my
voice ?"

The note of triumphant expectation in
this question resembled nothing so much
as the tone involuntarily assumed by the
attorney for the prosecution when he
reaches the vital question . in the cross-
examination of the most important wit-
ness for the defence, and the inquisitor's
dismay was correspondingly great when
the reply was a firm and unhesitating:

"Yes, sir!"

The face of the old man hardened.

"That will do," he said. "I have no
further use for your services — neither
iOW nor in the future. You will take this
as the customary week's notice !"

Nettie Lane flushed hotly, before turn-
ing a passionate white, but involuntarily
she looked appealingly at Royce. Before
he could speak Weld addressed him:

"Whoever originated this letter, you
had no business to delegate your duties
to another without consulting me, and 1
remember very distinctly having refused
you permission to leave earlier that after-
noon. I have no use for a man who
won't obey orders. You may also con-
sider yourself discharged."

Again Rodney Royce essayed to speak,
but this time his aunt interrupted. Her
seat commanded a view through one of
the glazed sashes and, while listening
with varied emotions to the examination
of the typist and her nephew, her gaze
had wandered more than once to a figure
at the nearest desk in the outer office.
Suddenly the subliminal feminine intui-
tion, which never fails to work on the
slightest inkling of the truth, flashed an
explanation to her conscious brain, and
she exclaimed :

"Mr. Weld,, please call in your son —
I'm sure he can give us an explanation of
this mystery !"

Three pairs of startled eyes were fixed
upon her, and the thick, loose lips of the
old manufacturer worked like the gills
of a fish out of water.

"What can he possibly know — " he
began, but paused,' rose, and beckoned
imperiously to young Watson, who had
not let any phase of this Star-Chamber
enquiry escape his observation.

"Watson !" said the father sharply.
"An unauthorized letter — a false and
forged one — has gone out from here ad-
dressed to this lady. You are one of the
few who have access to this office. What
do you know about the matter?"

Young Watson Weld looked very un-
comfortable, but after the barest pause
he said coolly :

"I know this much about it — I dictat-
ed the address !"

"Ah ! You dictated the address ! And
what was in the body of the note?"

"I don't know exactly — I can only
guess."

"Now, don't prevaricate, sir ! If you
didn't dictate the bodv of that letter,
who did?"

"You did."

The elder Weld's face took on an
apoplectic purple, and he stammered and

38

WORDS WRITTEN IN WAX.

gurgled in a vain attempt to express his
feelings.

"Now, don't throw a fit, Dad!" con-
tinued his imperturbable son. "Just read
that letter over again, in connection with
the one immediately before it on the
cylinder, addressed to the Newavgo Fur-
niture Company, and you will see that I
am telling the strict truth," and he spread
out the copies of the two letters, so that
all might see.

"You will recall dictating the address
of the first letter, and remember that you
left the room. I supplied the body, ac-
cording to your own ideas, as expressed
to Mr. Jordan, and then I began another,
to Miss Rodney. I am just a little curi-
ous mvself to see how you finished it
out."

And, though it might prove to be his
last laugh at his father, he could not re-
strain himself from uttering it, when he
saw how completely his trick would have
succeeded, had Miss Rodney acted dif-
ferently. This is what they read :

Fairfield. Oct. 9, 1903.
Lars Nillson, Esq.,

Mgr. Newaygo Furniture Co.,
Newaygo, Wis.
Dear Sir :

We are in receipt of your favor of 9th
inst, and very much regret that we can-
not entertain your offer.

Hoping that you may see your way to
favor us with future orders, if you can-
not reconsider your present proposition,
we are

Very truly yours,
The American Lignoid Company,

Watson Weld, President.
Diet. W. W.— A. L.

Miss Dorothy Rodney,

Green Street, Fairfield.
Dear Madam :

Your favor of even date received and
contents noted. Regretting that under
the circumstances I feel compelled to de-
cline your proposal, but with thanks for
your courtesy in tendering same, and
trusting that our friendly relations may
continue unimpaired, I remain
Yours very truly,

Watson Weld.
President American Lignoid Co.
Diet. W. W.— A. L.

Young Watson Weld survived the ex-
plosion of rage that followed, and lived
to indulge in further furtive laughs over
the affair, but they were mirthless ones,
and at his own expense.

His punishment was decreed to be
close confinement for a term of years in
the offices of the Lignoid Company.

When his father's fiery wrath and Miss
Rodney's righteous indignation had
somewhat cooled, and the courtship be-
gun in the springtime of life and so near-
ly ruptured forever in its Indian sum-
mer was once more resumed, it resulted
in a very extended honeymoon abroad.

The interests of the concern, mean-
time, its energetic head decided, would
not suffer under the administration of
the new vice-president, Rodney Royce,
whose aunt had bought for him the
shares necessary to qualify him as an offi-
cer of the corporation.

Mrs. Rodney Royce — nee Lane — was
not vouchsafed so lengthy a bridal tour,
but, as she is very young, bright pros-
pects justify her day-dreams of wide
foreien travel in the future.

Little acts of daily kindness do more to lubricate the machinery of life than
a whole deluge of benevolence from a dead millionaire who has really left to
the world what he could not carry away.

Humor is like a healing plaster to the wounds of life; wit, the surgeon's knife
that would pare to the hone if essential, while sarcasm is the caustic which may
eradicate an evil but leaves a scar behind.

CHRONICLE OF A CELEBRATED CORNER

By ALDEN W. QUIMBY

JOT every student of Amer-
ican geography — indeed,
not every Pennsylvanian.
— is aware that the Key-
stone State is unique
among her sisters of the
Union in the possession of a cur-
ious projection at her southeast cor-
ner, which points southward and
thus effectually estops the extension
of the celebrated "Mason and Dixon
Line" to the western border of Dela-
ware. (Strictly speaking, the line was
prolonged to the Delaware river — but
not as a boundary.) This little wedge,
or neck, of territory, which only appears,
if at all, upon large-scale maps of the
State, embraces about eight hundred
acres — or sufficient for a half dozen
fair sized farms. Strangely enough its
population preferably pays tax to the au-
thorities of Delaware, and its electors
vote at the precincts of that gallant little
State whose quaint pseudonym is "The
Blue Hen's Chickens." A member of
the Delaware legislature who resided in
this strip was playfully alluded to as "the
gentleman from Pennsylvania."

As may be perceived upon the map of
the United States, there are numerous
points where three States meet ; and one
where four States, or Territories — Utah,
Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico —
enjoy a common marker ; but none other
which boasts so peculiar a junction as
that of Pennsylvania, Maryland and
Delaware. It is therefore a curio among
state corners, and its history is corre-
spondingly interesting. One who might
readily surmise the reason for a pro-
jection at Pennsylvania's northwest cor-
ner— for harbor privileges — might long
guess in vain the occasion of the tiny
southeastern wedge, and the rounded
northern boundary of Delaware.

It was upon an ideal autumn day of
rarest azure sky, golden sunshine and
deepening tint of blade and leaf, that the
writer, amorous of blended landscape
and colonial storv, traversed from the

north the rapidly narrowing strip be-
tween Maryland and Delaware, which
is but three-quarters of a mile wide at
its base, and about three and a half miles
long. To the westward rose the soft
blue hills that line the course of Big Elk
Creek through "Maryland, My Mary-
land ;" and on the east were the gentle
slopes that descend to White Clay — bet-
ter known as " Whitely Creek" — in Dela-
ware, whereon once stood a village of the
Lenni Lenapes. The famous point of the
wedge, which is not properly a triangle,
since the hypotenuse is in reality the
arc of a circle, lies between the forks of
Christiana Creek, locally known as
"Christine," which receives the storied
Brandywine just before its quiet waters
mingle with the stately Delaware.

It was in the year 1632 that Charles I
of England, granted to Cecilius Calvert,
Lord Baron of Baltimore, "all that part
of the peninsula, or Chersonese, lying in
the parts of America between the ocean
on the east and the bay of Chesapeake on
the west, divided from the residue there-
of by a right line drawn from the prom-
ontory or headland, called Watkin's
point, situated upon the bay aforesaid,
and near the river of Wighco on the
west, unto the main ocean on the east,
and between that boundary on the south,
and that part of the bay of Delaware on
the north, which lieth under the forti-
eth parallel of latitude, where New Eng-
land terminates."

Lord Baltimore promptly claimed the
whole peninsula, from the "right line"
to the 40th degree of latitude; and his
descendants followed suit. But decrees
and grants, like wills, sometimes exhibit
ambiguous features. It appears that it
was intended to grant only the unsettled,
or uncultivated portion, the Dutch and
the Swedes having settled upon the west-
ern shore of the Delaware. In 1664 the
Duke of York conquered the Dutch set-
tlements on both shores of the latter
river, these having previously absorbed
those of the Swedes, and exercised au-

EST'

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i

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I

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t^^d

HuH

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TAc />o«wi of fft? Pennsylvania "Wedge"

thority over them until 1682, when he
transferred his claims along- the western
shore of both river and bay to that nota-
ble immigrant in the New World, Will-
iam Perm, who duly annexed this terri-
tory to his original grant ; and it was
known for a century thereafter as the
"Territories, or Three Lower Counties
on the Delaware." A separate legisla-
ture was established for it in 1703, but it
continued to recognize the sway of the
governor of Pennsylvania, until the per-
iod of the Revolution, when it became an
independent State.

But alas ! the title to this territorial
prize became a bone of contention, to be
wrestled over for three-quarters of a
century. In 1685, the Council of King
James II ordered that "for avoiding fur-
ther differences the tract of land lying
between the Bay of Delaware and the
eastern sea on the one side and the Ches-
apeake Bay on the other, be divided into
equal parts, by a line from the latitude
of Cape Hcnlopen to the fortieth de-
gree of north latitude, the southern

boundary of Pennsylvania by charter —
and that the one-half thereof lying to-
ward the bay of Delaware and the east-
ern sea, be adjudged to belong to his
Majesty, and the other half to the Lord
Baltimore, as comprised in his charter."
This would seem a very clear exposi-
tion, were it not for the uncertainty at-
tending the site of Cape Henlopen. And
there was much misunderstanding, ap-
parently, as to the location of the forti-
eth parallel of north latitude. For a
time the promontory opposite Cape May
was entitled "Cape Cornelius," and the
"false cape" at Fenwick's Island was
called "Cape Henlopen." Certainly
there was a transposition of these capes
on the ancient charts — a circumstance
inexplicable by historians. However, in
1732, an agreement was consummated
by the sons of William Penn and the
great grandson of Cecilius Calvert, which
allayed friction for a while. It is in this
agreement that we discover the secret
of the unusual boundary lines. It was
conceded by both parties that "a semi-
circle should be drawn at twelve English

ALDEX W. QUIMBY.

41

statute miles around New Castle, agree-
ably to the deed of the Duke of York to
William Perm, in 1682; that an east and
west line should be drawn, beginning at
Cape Henlopen, then admitted to be be-
low Cape Cornelius, and running west-
ward to the exact middle of the penin-
sula, between the two bays of Chesapeake
and Delaware ; from thence and the end of
the line intersecting it in the latitude of
Cape Henlopen, a line should be run
northward, so as to form a tangent with
the periphery of the semi-circle at New
Castle, drawn with the radius of twelve
English statute miles, whether such line
should take a due north course or not ;
that after the said northwardly line
should touch the New Castle semi-circle,
it should be run further northward until
it reached the. same latitude as fifteen
English statute miles due south of the
most southern part of Philadelphia ; that
from the northern point of such line a
due west line should be run, at least for
the present, across the Susquehanna
river, and twenty-five miles beyond it —
and to the western limits of Pennsyl-
vania, when occasion should require it ;
that that part of the due west line not
actually run through, though imaginary,
should be considered to be the true
boundarv of Maryland and Pennsylvania,
etc."

Subsequently troubles again arose, and
in 1737 the King's Council was petitioned
for a new order. But a truce was patch-
ed up once more ; and in harmony with a
definite understanding between the par-
ties, commissioners were appointed to
run a temporary line between Maryland
and Pennsylvania. The work proceeded
in 1739, but was threatened with inter-
ruption by sickness in the family of one
of the commissioners representing Mary-
land. His coadjutor declined to bear the
responsibility alone, when the Pennsyl-
vania commissioners prosecuted the work
until the most western of what was then
termed the "Kittochtinny Hills" was
reached.

Next the matter got into Chancery, of
which Dickens draws so dreary a picture
in "Bleak House" ; and it was not until
175.0 that a final decision was rendered.
For five days Lord Baltimore's counsel

argued against the agreement, alleging
vagueness, etc., but Lord Chancellor
Hardwicke directed that new commis-
sioners should be appointed within three
months to carry out the articles of agree-
ment of 1732. He also ordered that
the center of the semi-circle should be
fixed "as near the center of the town of
New Castle as may be," and that Cape
Henlopen be considered to be situated as
in the chart — at Fenwick's Island, about
fifteen miles south of the present cape of
the same name.

Even yet there were lingering difficul-
ties ; for Lord Baltimore insisted that the
radii of the semi-circle should be meas-
ured superficially, without allowing for
the inequalities of the ground. Chancery
disposed of this singular contention in
1 75 1 ; but clouds of dispute still hovered
over the project until 1760, when a final
agreement gave the quietus to opposition.

It is amusing to read that the survey
commenced with a stone pillar "east of
the mulberry tree on Fenwick's Island,"
sculptured with the arms of the contract-
ing parties. The work of the commis-
sion proceeded very slowly. What were
called "vistas" were cut through the
forest, and measurements were made
with the common chain held as nearly
horizontal as possible, poles stationed
along the vista being sighted. At the
end of three years little more was accom-
plished than the establishment of the
peninsular line and the measurement of
a radius. Thus there was left to be as-
certained, "the tangent, from the middle
of the peninsular line to the tangent
point, the meridian from thence to a
point 15 miles south of the most southern
part of Philadelphia, with the arc of the
circle to the west of it, the 15 miles dis-
tance, and the parallel of latitude west-
ward of its termination."

Two figures destined to become dis-
tinguished now appear upon the scene. It
chanced that the Penns and Lord Balti-
more were in London in 1763. Here they
met and engaged Charles Mason and
Jeremiah Dixon, "two mathematicians
and surveyors," to determine all the un-
determined boundaries of the much dis-
puted American territory. Accordingly
these gentlemen departed for Philadel-

Where the States meet, looking north

phia in the late fall, received their in-
structions and commenced their duties
before the close of the year. They as-
certained the latitude of the southern-
most part of Philadelphia, agreeing" upon
a point in the north wall of a house oc-
cupied by Thomas Plumstead and Joseph
Huddle, on the south side of Cedar
street, 39 degrees, 56 minutes, 29.1 sec-
onds (afterward corrected by Graham to
read 39 degrees, 56 minutes, 37.4 sec-
onds) north, and measured 31 miles
westward — doubtless from the Dela-
ware's brink — to the forks of the Brandy-
wine, where, they established a marker
known to the country folk as the "Star-
gazers' Stone." From this point a line
15 miles due south was run to a post
marked "West;" thence 'a line to a post
"Middle," at the middle point of the
peninsular line stipulated from Fenwick's
Island to Chesapeake Bay ; and thence
they ran the tangent line.

In the autumn of 1764 they produced
a parallel of latitude westward as far as
the Susquehanna ; after which they went
to the tangent point, and ran a meridian

line northward until it intersected that
parallel, at the distance of 5 miles, 1 chain
and 50 links. This last point is the east-
ern extremity of the famous "Mason and
Dixon Line," the northeast corner of
Maryland. It is situated in a little dell,
on the margin of a brooklet, with wooded
hills of oak and chestnut for a back-
ground. A low stone, engraved on the
north and east sides with the letter P,
and on the west and south sides with the
letter M, thus modestly tells the story of
territorial boundaries, and suggests a vol-
ume of historical memories.* Most mo-
mentous of all, the invisible line to the
westward was long the synonym of the
division between the free and the slave
sections of the Union ; and recalls the
sorrowful strife, which, among other re-
sults, so strangely eventuated in the ob-
literation of this symbolic division. Many
years ago prize-fighters availed them-
selves of its protection ; for when the
sheriff interrupted their brutal play, at a

*The original stone having: been broken
was mended with iron clamps held in place
by lead. Tradition affirms that the lead was
picked out for Continental bullets.

ALDEN W. QUIMBY.

43

moment's alarm they could find safety
"across the line."

Messrs. Mason and Dixon next de-
scribed that portion of the semi-circle
round New Castle that fell westward of
the meridian, or due north line, from the
tangent point. This dainty arc, or bow,
is about a mile and half long, and its mid-
dle width one hundred and sixteen feet.
Certainly it is a curio within a curio. It
is the only portion of the semi-circle that
these now famous surveyors ran.

The great boundary line was now
traced due west for more than 230 miles,
to an Indian war-path ; where an original
— or aboriginal — Proprietary, not invari-
ably consulted in the apportionment of
American lands, effectually issued an in-
junction upon further proceedings.

Stones were erected at the end of every
mile, for the distance of 132 miles, to
near the foot of Sidelong Hill ; each five-
mile stone bearing the arms of the Penns
on its r>orth side, and the tokens of the
Baltimores on its south face. These
stones, of calcareous rock known as
Oolite, were brought from England.
When this time-honored line was sur-
veyed, in 1849, it was discovered that
some of the stones had been appropriated
as steps, or chimney-pieces. The corner
stone had been supplanted by a stake.

Beyond Sidelong Hill, piles of stones
six or eight feet high at the end of each
mile served as markers as far as the sum-
mit of the Alleghenies ; and the remain-
der of the survey was indicated by posts
surrounded with stones.

Other surveyors completed the south-
ern boundary line of Pennsylvania in
1782-4. As for Messrs. Mason and Dix-
on, they reported the interference of the
Indians, and received an honorable dis-
charge after their four years' service.
The total cost to the Penns for surveys
from 1760 to 1768 was 34,200 pounds.
Pennsylvania currency. The customs
of a century and a half ago are illus-
trated in the note that during the at-
tempt of 1750 to settle the boundary dis-
putes, a hogshead of port wine, eleven
gallons of spirits and forty-two gallons
of rum were consumed.

The radius of 12 miles from New Cas-
tle was found to be two feet, four inches

too short. .The error of the tangent
point gave Maryland one and three-
quarters acres too much territory at the
expense of Delaware. A Commission,
in 1 8 +9, finding the marks along the
semi-circle obliterated, placed a stone
marked "Tangent" at the tangent point,
with the date "1849" on the north side.
A post rounded on its west face, and
marked "1849," was established at the
meridian of the little arc. At the junc-
tion of the three States a triangular post
of cut granite was set up, with "P" "D"
"M" on the respective sides, and the in-
scription,

"Refixed
Bv

H. G. S. Key, of Md.
J. P. Evre of Pa.

G. R. Riddle of Del.
Commissioners

1849."

on the north side.

Some two miles southwest of Newark,
Delaware, a signboard on the Baltimore
and Ohio Railroad indicates the cross-
ing of the Maryland line. In the adja-
cent woods, south of the track, a wire
fence leads to the intersection point, per-
haps a hundred yards distant. The
quiet of the leafy shade helps the visitor
to meditate upon the past, and sip from
the fountain of colonial history.

But Time's ruthless hand and the
iconoclasm of thoughtless folk are in-
evitable factors in all human affairs.
Vandals have chipped away the initials
of the commissioners and the finals of
the States, while the "1" of "1849" has
disappeared also. In 1900 a new sur-
vey was ordered by the States of Penn-
sylvania and Maryland, the work to be
accomplished under the direction of a
commission composed of the Superin-
tendent of the United States Coast and
Geodetic Survey, the Secretary of In-
ternal affairs of Pennsylvania, and the
Director of the Geological Survey of
Maryland.

However, the minor errors incidental
to the operations of ancient times will
probably be ignored to all time, and the
wisdom of the Commission of 1849 ex-
tolled, in making no change in the time
honored landmarks.

WHEN CUPID CAME TO CALLAWAY

By MAURICE PRESCOTT

OO-OOT ! Schree-eech !
toot-toot-too-oot ! Whoo-

00-00 !

!"

the unitiated the
sounded like the
of some tortured
demon ; to the initiated — and the inhabi-
tants of Callaway Hill were all initiated —
it was only the half-after-four whistle,
announcing- that in just ninety minutes,
every employee of the Callaway Cotton
Mills must be in place and ready for
work. .

Molly Sue opened her eyes at the first
shriek of the great whistle ; then she
closed them again — she was so sleepy !
The August night had been hot and
breathless ; the tiny baby in her mother's
room had cried almost incessantly, and
the feeble wails still sounded beyond the
thin partition ; Annie Bell, the former
baby, jealous of the new-comer, and
angry at being put to sleep with her two
big sisters, had done her share toward
keeping the family awake : and Lovinnia
May, over in the other bed, had been
sobbing for hours with the toothache —
or the earache — Molly Sue was too sleepy
to remember which ! Oh, if they would
all be quiet for just a few minutes and
let her have one little nap ! But the fate-
ful "Whoo-oo!" of the whistle was still
sounding, and there was breakfast to be
cooked, and the children to be dressed,
and the cow to be milked, and the pig to
be fed, and a dozen other things, — and
because.of that wailing baby and Ihe sick-
ly mother, all these tasks must be done
by Molly Sue and Florinda.

"Lawsee," grumbled Molly Sue. as she
sat up, rubbing her eyes. "How that
pore little soul does squall ! I reckon hit
feels the heat mighty bad," she added
with a touch of pity. Then she looked
across the bed at Florinda. Florinda 's
eyes were closed, and she was breathing
steadily; but Molly Sue was suspicious.
"Florinda Lowder, you quit playin'
possum, an' git up," she commanded.

Florinda began to snore. Thereupon
Molly Sue took matters into her own
hands. A cuff on the jaw may not be the
most humane way of arousing a sleeper,
but there can be little doubt as to its ef-
ficacy. Florinda awoke instantly, with
fire in her eyes and reproaches on her
tongue.

Unheeding, Molly Sue proceeded to
give orders. "You dress them young
uns, an' go milk the cow an' tie her out,
an' send Tom to tote the milk over to
Crump's. I'll git breakfast and tend to
things. Leave Annie Belle alone ; she
can git up when she wants too, an' she
don't need no fixin' nohow," which was
quite true, for Annie Bell wore the same
blue frock which had been her only gar-
ment for two days past, and would prob-
ably do duty for as much future service.
Having mapped out her campaign, and
dressed herself at the same time, Molly
Sue departed to the kitchen, and made a
vigorous attack upon the rusty stove.

From her manner of beginning the
day, some people might have called Molly
Sue ill-natured ; but when one is the eld-
est daughter of a poverty-stricken fam-
ily which has lately received its dozenth
member, with an invalid mother and an
intemperate father, one may be excused
for many shortcomings, more especially
when one is only "goin' on fer sixteen."
Mollv Sue did not reason thus, however;
she seldom reasoned, for that matter;
she merely "done things."

On this particular Saturday morning,
her "doin' things" proceeded so satis-
factorily that by half-past five the family
had been dressed and fed, and the wage-
earners started toward the mill. In this
company were included all the children
over twelve, and also, the twins, Lovin-
nia May and Furley, who were only
eleven. The law says, of course, that no
one under twelve shall work in a mill ;
but the twins were large for their age,
and. besides, the family finances needed
their support, so their father had told

MAURICE PRESCOTT.

45

the boss they were twelve, adding the
mental reservation that they were
"mighty clost to hit, anyways."

Molly Sne lingered after the others
had departed, for a moment's farewell to
her mother and the baby. Then she
twisted her well-oiled hair into a sleazy
pompadour, pressed a worn pink ribbon
into service as a collar, tied her flabby
sunbonnet with a coquettish bow, and
hurried after the children.

No, not hurried. Molly Sue had rea-
sons of her own for not wishing to join
the boisterous group ahead. Neverthe-
less, a casual observer would have sup-
posed her to be much surprised when
Travis Little suddenly appeared at her
side. She screamed and started, then
walked, on with the air of one much an-
noyed by his presence, though a curious
little smile on her lips, and a faint color
in her sallow cheeks, encouraged Travis
to believe that he was not unwelcome.
In truth, she was trying to calm the fran-
tic beating of her heart, and assure her-
self that she was not excited. For, be it
known, Molly Sue Lowder was in love
with this same Travis Little. She had
known of his existence for some years,
and had often seen him, in public places,
usually with a girl ; for Travis Little was
all of nineteen years old, so naturally he
was a thoroughly experienced gallant
and man of the world. Some people
would have said he was not good to look
upon ; he was long and loose-jointed ;
his features irregular and lacking in in-
telligence ; his crooked teeth stained with
tobacco ; at present his clothing was de-
cidedly soiled, besides being well-covered
with cotton lint. But these defects did
not trouble Molly Sue.

Since that Sunday a month ago, when
he had walked home with her from
preaching, her heart had been full of tu-
mult. She was mentally reviewing the
courtship. He had been attentive to her
all that week. The next Sunday there
had been no service in the mill church
( and of course Molly Sue did not attend
the "town churches," across the valley) ;
but in the afternoon Travis had appeared
at her home, and they strolled down to
Big Spring, where they drank water
from poplar-leaf cups. Travis had

thrown a cup of water over her, and then
brushed off her dress with his handker-
chief—it was a pretty handkerchief, she
remembered, with a red border just the
color of his necktie.

Then there had been another Sunday
when he escorted her home from church ;
and last Sunday^oh ! blissful memory- -
he had hired a mule and buggy, and to-
gether they had gone to "Big Meeting"
at Walnut Grove Church. This was
Saturday morning — to-night there would
be a moving-picture show in a tent near
the mill, and to-morrow there was Big
Meeting at Palestine Church, where
some of Travis' kinspeople attended ;
need one wonder that in view of these
possibilities, Molly Sue's assumed indif-
ference gave way to an almost too eager
interest in her companion's remarks?

As they crossed the open space above
the mill, Travis said: "I reckon you've
heerd thar's to be a show hyar to-night?"

"Yaas, the folks was a-talkin' about it
last night," replied Molly Sue, trying to
maintain the calm tone of one to whom
shows were an everyday affair.

But, as has been said, Travis Little
was a man of the world, and her seeming
indifference did not daunt him, as it
might have done a less experienced suit-
or ; so he persisted boldly, "Jim Hatley,
he was in Concord when hit was thar,
an' he liked hit fine ; so I reckon I'll go
to-night." He paused inquiringly. There
was no reply. "If so be's you'd keer to
go, Miss Molly, I'd be proud to hev the
honor of your company."

Thereupon Molly Sue suddenly found
her voice, and feeling that such an ele-
gantly-worded invitation demanded a fit-
ting response, said in her most dulcest
tones that she would be most happy to
go.

By this time they had reached the mill-
door and Travis turned away toward the
card-room, raising his cap with easy
grace. The group of girls at the door
plied Molly Sue with teasing questions,
which she answered indifferently ; she
was not ill-pleased with the attention of
her mates, but in her heart was a feeling
of superiority, for she knew there was
none of them but envied her.

Sam Smith passed by and nodded awk-

46

WHEN CUPID CAME TO CALLAWAY.

wardly. He had been quite devoted to
her before Travis began his campaign
and she had enjoyed and encouraged his
attention. But now — she contrasted him
with Mr. Little's cultured elegance, and
wondered how she had ever found any-
thing to admire in poor Smith.

"Too-oot! toot-toot! Whoo-oo!"
sounded the warning whistle, and the
girls trooped noisily into the long rooms.
Molly Sue hurried to her machine to
tend the flying spindles with unrelenting
care, for even under the overwhelming
excitement of romance she clung jealous-
ly to her laurels as best spinner in the
room. It was cruelly close and hot in the
mill that day ; the air was choked with
tiny particles of lint ; but she had no
thought for material discomforts. She
stepped proudly back and forth before
her machine, watching the rushing
wheels and rods and belts, guiding the
flying threads into place. It grew hotter
and more breathless as noon approached,
but she did not heed ; her heart was
down in the card-room. The dinner-
hour came ; she ate her cold lunch almost
in silence, then back to work again. She
was growing tired ; but this was Satur-
day, and the whirring wheels would stop
two hours sooner to-day. Already some
of the girls were beginning to clear up
the space about their machines.

At last the whistle shrieked the wel-
come signal that four o'clock had come.
There was a rush toward the door. Molly
Sue tried to fall behind the general
crowd, but half-a-dozen girls insisted on
joining her. Travis passed with a group
of boys, and called to her; loud enough
for Sam Smith to hear, "The show be-
gins at eight, Miss Molly. I'll be 'long
'bout half-after seven."

Molly Sue made no reply, but her
cheeks began to burn, and they grew no
cooler when the girls attacked her with
rapid questions.

"Law, Molly ! you goin' to the show
with Travis?"

"Mercy on us, Molly Sue'll be goin'
with the boss next !"

"Say, N Moll, d'ye hear Travis got a
raise to-day? Reckon he's makin' mighty
nigh a dollar a day now."

Molly only giggled consciously by way

of reply, but her heart throbbed with
pride.

The next three hours flew by swiftly.
There was much to do, but she found
time to wash and press the ribbons which
adorned her best frock. Supper was late,
and she raged inwardly as she waited for
the tardy members of the family. For-
tunately, Florinda was in a good humor,
and a little coaxing persuaded her to fin-
ish the work. Then Molly Sue rushed to
her room.

She drew the pale-blue lawn frock
with its sprawling flowers, from the bat-
tered trunk, and held her breath until
it was safely on. Everything went
wrong ; shoe laces broke, a comb was not
to be found, pins slipped from her nerv-
ous fingers and disappeared ; but at last
she was ready. She surveyed herself in
the cracked mirror ; the dress was cheap
and ill-fitting ; the arms and throat it re-
vealed were skinny and sallow ; the
beads, the bracelet, the sidecombs, even
the Japanese ribbon belt, were all imita-
tion; but Molly Sue was satisfied. So
she went forth to the porch where the
family were assembled, and with throb-
bing heart awaited the coming of her
lover.

Presently he appeared, arrayed in his
Sunday suit, a new cravat of green and
scarlet dangling boldly down his shirt-
front.

Mr. Lowder, tilting heavily in his
chair, looked at the young man coolly,
without removing his pipe from his
mouth or his feet from the railing against
which they were braced.

"Howdy?" he grunted at last.

Molly Sue shivered at the iciness of his
tone; what would Travis think? But
Travis, as has been said, was a man of
much experience with girls, and, as na-
turally followed, with girls' fathers.

"G'-evenin', sah," he replied blandly,
removing his hat with an easy nod that
included the whole family.

"Hev a cheer," suggested Mr. Lowder,
a trifle more of intolerance in his voice.

"No, thankee, sah ; ef Miss Molly's
ready, I reckon we better be movin' on ;
thar's a good crowd goin', an' seats'll be
sca'se."

"You goin' t' the show, Molly Sue?"

MAURICE PRESCOTT.

47

asked her father, suddenly roused from
his indifference.

"Yassir," stammered Molly Sue, trem-
bling with apprehension.

Air. Lowder's feet came to the floor
with a thump. "No, y'aint," he said
thickly. "Y'got 'nough t' do hyar 't
home, 'thout runnin' off t' shows witli
Travis Little 'r any other low-down scala-
wag. And as fer you," he turned to the
young man, "git out o'hyar, an' don't
you never speak to my gal agin."

Molly Sue clasped her hands in hor-
ror. Had she known that her father
was drinking to-night, she might have
planned some way of going without his
knowledge ; but now — oh, now it was too
late ! And what would Travis do ?

But in that minute Travis had risen to
the full height of his manhood. He stood
erect, his face hardened into stern lines.
Then he spoke, calmly but for an angry
tremor in his voice. "Mist' Lowder,
what's the matter with me that I
shouldn't speak to Miss Molly?"

"Matter? I don't want ye' round,
that's the matter!" roared the man.

"Oh," said Travis, coldly. "I knowed
you couldn' prove nothin' agin me. An'
I'll quit speakin' to Miss Molly when sTTe
tells me to, an' not fer you ner nobody
else."

"Oh, you — you fool !" spluttered the
other. "I'll shoot ye at sight ef I see ye
on my place agin, an' I'll frail the life
outer Moll ef she says another word to
ye ! Now git out 'fore I kill ye !"

Travis looked at him a minute, smiling
contemptuously, turned suddenly on his
heel, and walked quietly down the street,
with a new firmness in his gait. Mr.
Lowder sprang up unsteadily, staggered
down the steps and followed, while Molly
Sue sat sobbing in despair.

Scarcely was her father out of sight
when Travis appeared around the corner
of the house, rather breathless, but col-
lected, as usual. "Ef so be's you're ready,
Miss Molly," he remarked, "I reckon
we'd better be gittin' on."

Molly Sue gasped uncertainly. Then
her mother's weak voice came through
the window. "Go on, chile, ef you want
to. He won't stop now tell he gits to
Hunter's, an' he won't know nothin'

when he gits back frurri thar. Go 'long
honey."

So Molly Sue dried her tears and de-
parted with her lover. They walked
across the valley and up the hill with
scarcely a word ; quietly they entered the
tent, and took their seats on one of the
unplaned boards that served for benches.
The gay-colored pictures flitted smokily
across the canvas before them, but Molly
Sue scarcely noticed. The bitter-sweet
cup of Life-and-Love had touched her
lips, and she was intoxicated with the
draught. The show ended, the audience
rose to depart ; people spoke to Molly
Sue, but she answered like one in a
dream ; she paid no heed to the boys who
chaffed her escort as they left the tent.

There were two paths leading home-
ward,— the shorter, through the narrow,
noisy street ; the longer, down by the
creek, where the moonlight was sleeping
on the willow trees. The boy turned un-
hesitatingly toward the longer road, and
Mollv Sue followed without protest. As
they left the circle of torch-light, he
slipped his arm through hers, half-bash-
fully.

"Your pa's right set sort o' man, ain't
he?" was the question with which he
broke the silence.

"He shore is," acknowledged Molly
Sue.

"You reckon he meant what he said
to-night ?"

"I'm feerd so," replied the girl. "Y'see,
he says things when he's — when he's lak
he was to-night, and then afterwards he
thinks he's gotter stick to 'em."

"Well," said Travis, defiantly, "I
meant what I said, too."

Molly Sue was silent ; indeed, what was
there to say? He seemed to expect an
answer, but at length went on, — "You
ain't a-goin' to tell me to quit speakin'
to you, air you, Molly?"

"Oh, no," began Molly, quickly, — and
then stopped.

"But I'm feerd he'll fuss at you ef he
sees us a-speakin', an ef I come to see
you, an — an sich like," he finished lame-
ly.

No answer. Travis slipped his hand
along the slender wrist until his hard
palm closed about the girl's cold fingers.

48

HER CHARM.

"You see, Molly," he began again, "I
jis natchelly cayn't stand hit not to speak
to you, but I don't want to see you ef hit
makes you pa fuss at you. So I been a-
thinkin', an' 'pears to me the best way to
fix hit is fer you an' me ter git married.
I got a raise to-day, an" we kin stay at
my dad's, an' — an' I'll be good to you —
an' I want you, honey, I want you !"

Molly Sue hesitated, then suddenly the
Spirit of Coquetry that dwells in every
woman's heart rose and spoke, and she
obeyed, — but reluctantly, for concealment
of emotion is not a part of Callaway
Hill's curriculum. She jerked her hand
from his and walked quickly away. But
TraVis was not to be put off thus ; he
sprang to her side and caught her arm in
a fierce grip.

"Molly," he cried, sharply, "don't you
love me?"

The girl's head dropped, and she mur-
mured— "I — I don't know."

"But, Molly," expostulated the boy, "I
love you, an — an' you gotter lova me,
Molly, — you jes' gotter love me, — you
hyar me ? Hit'll kill me ef you don't.
You gointer marry me, hain't you,
Molly?"

The Spirit of Coquetry seemed to have
lost its power ; there was but one word to
sav, and Molly Sue said it ; the word was
"Yaas."

"I got hit all planned," announced Tra-
vis. " 'Tain't no use fer you to go home

an' mebbe git fussed at. You know I
got a cousin livin' jes over the line in
South Caroliny. Let's us git a hoss an'
buggy an' go down thar right now. Hit
won't take no more'n a hour or two to
go, an' we kin git married to-night — we
don't need no license down thar. We kin
visit Cousin Joe's to-morrer, an' then
come back to Dad's. What d'ye say?"

Molly Sue agreed happily to the plan.
They hurried to the livery stable, found
a rickety buggy and an aged mule, and
drove away into the warm, white night.

They would miss her at home, Molly
Sue thought ; but Florinda was old
enough to take charge now, and the other
children could help — oh, they woul«4 get
along. For herself, there would still be
work in the mill ; then there would come
the time when she must stay at home and
care for the throng of little ones which
are the portion of every home among the
mill hands. Before her stretched a life
of toil and suffering, of bitter poverty
and hopeless ignorance. She saw it all, —
but the gray monontony of the future
was tinged with the rosy light of love,
into which her soul had risen on the rain-
bow wings of romance. And Molly Sue
was content.

"And on her lover's arm she leant.
And 'round her waist she felt it fold,
And far across the hills they went.
In that New World which is the Old."

HER CHARM

By JOHN M. REGAN

Her eyes are two violets, glistening with dew,
Her hair is a web of the sun's golden hue.
Her mouth is of pearl in the heart of a rose,
But God save the mark, she's a retrousse nose.

Her forehead is broad and a white satin shade.
Her eyebrows and lashes, bewitchingly laid,
Her lips are a model of Cupid's own bows,
But God save the mark, she's a retrousse nose.

l'envoi
She is loved for her eyes and her cheeks and her hair.
For her month and its smile, and the clothes she may wear,
But ne'er had these snared me. as one of her beaux —
God thanked for the mark, 'twas her little pug nose.

THE MAJOR'S NEW YEAR

By GRACE SHEETS

HE Major's wife stood by
the gate-post holding fast
to the little coat of the boy
she had set up on top of
the broad post ; her hair
was parted and brought

down on each side of her face, tall and

slender, the silver white

hair seemed the only

mark over fifty years of

time had left in her gen-

tle face. She
lovingly at
grandchild.

looked up
her little
"Mother,"
he called her.

"Do you hear the
Major, is he coming?"
she asked. He put his
little hand behind his
ear, bent his head for-
ward and listened, she
laughed at this imitation
of the Major, part of
the Major's pension
came for a slight deaf-
ness.

The boy began kick-
ing his heels joyfully
against the post.

"Listen I" he cried, 'T
hear him, mother, lis-
ten !" Down the road
there came the rattle of
wheels and a voice sing-
ing. The woman lis-
tened a moment and her
face darkened, she
grasped the boy's coat
tighter ; as the wagon
came nearer, the voice
were plainer.
"Hurrah, boys, hurrah!

jubilee!
Hurrah, hurrah! for the flag that set you

free.
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to

the sea,
While we were inarching through Geor-
gia."

and the words

The voice ended in a hilarious snout as
the wagon turned a corner of the road
and came in sight. The Major's wife
pulled the boy from the post and for a
moment huddled him up against her
breast, then she turned and ran into the
house.

The Major came on
with the mules attached
to the light spring wag-
on galloping wildly, two
or three hounds trailed
along in the dust be-
hind ; he rounded up by
the gate, the front
wheels narrowly miss-
ing the horse block, the
mules stopped at the
hitching-post and the
Major stood up unstead-
ily.

"Hi, Kate ! Come
out," he called.

She had put the cof-
fee pot on and was try-
ing to blow the fire to a
brisk blaze. She got up
when she heard him call
and stopped long
enough to put a cup of
the ground coffee in the
pot.

"Stay in here, little
man,"' she said to the
child, "You won't b e
afraid, will you? Call
mother when the coffee
boils."

She closed the door
after her and went out. The Major had
collapsed back on the seat and com-

fit bring the menced singing.

"In the prison cell I sit, thinking Mother

dear of you,
In your bright and happy home so far

away;
And the tears will fill my eyes in spite of

all that I can do,

50

THE MAJOR'S NEW YEAR.

Though I try to cheer my comrades and
be gay."

He began to cry maudlingly, Kate
went up to the wagon.

"Get out, Major, can't you get out?
Here I'll help you." The Major stood
up again.

"Hi, Kate, how are you, Kate?" he
put his hand waveringly over his heart.
"Fair Kathcrine, and most fair!
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier

terms,
Such as will enter at a lady's ear,
And plead his love-suit to her gentle
heart?"

The woman's lip curled a little, then
she put her head down for a moment on
the wagon-tire. It came back to hc
how proud she had been when he had
first quoted "Harry of England" to her.

She held up her hand, "Come, Major,
get down," she said coaxingly, "take my
hand, here, get down."

He made an unsteady, ludicrous at-
tempt at a bow.

"You have witchcraft in your lips,
Kate, and they should sooner persuade
Harry of England, than a general peti-
tion of monarchs."

She shook her head impatiently and
her lips stiffened into a line. She gave
an anxious glance over her shoulder at
the kitchen window.

"Get down, Major, do you hear me?
^et clown and come into the house," she
said sternly.

The Major whimpered at the tone, put
bis hand in hers and unsteadily got out
Dver the wagon wheel. She kept hold of
nis hand and half led, half dragged him
nto the house, glancing anxiously again
ind again at the kitchen window.

"If only the child does not see him,"
she kept repeating to herself.

She got him into the front room and
le stumbled into a chair. She closed the
door carefully and went back into the
Kitchen. The boy stood on a chair stir-
ring the pot of strong coffee, he looked
up brightly as she entered.

"It boiled while you were gone, moth-
er, so T stirred it like you do."

She put her arms tenderly around him.

"Where's the Major?" he asked look-
ing up in her face. "Has he come in,

couldn't I go help him put the mules up ?
you promised, mother."

She looked out of the window a mo-
ment ; it was hard to look down at the
trustful innocent little face.

"The Major's sick," she said slowly,
"You mustn't bother him. Promise you
won't go into his room, Erancis."

The boy nodded, he had made many
of those promises before. He got down
off the chair. "Is he sick this way, moth-
er?" He walked unsteadily in imitation
of the Major in a zigzag across the floor.
She caught him up with a cry.

"No, no, Francis, you mustn't do that,
that was wrong. You will not do it
again?"

She put him down and poured part of
the coffee into a bowl and went into the
front room ; the Major's head had fallen
forward and he leaned over the side of
the chair. She held up his head and put
the bowl to his lips. He drank the coffee
mechanically ; when he had finished and
she took away her supporting hand, his
head fell forward again.
- She went out to the barn, fed, and put
the mules away for the night. Coming
back to the house, she stood for a while
on the porch, a tumult fighting in her
heart. She had fought the same battle
again and again before, but always put it
down with a hope for the future ; but to-
night the battle was not so easily won ;
always there came before her eyes the
figure of the little boy in his staggering
zigzag across the kitchen floor, she put
her hand across her eyes to hide the
sight.

She went into the house and put their
supper on the table.

"Won't the Major come to supper?"
the boy asked wistfully, when he saw
her put but two plates on the table. She
shook her head, "Not now, Francis, he
isn't hungry."

They ate silently, the woman deep in
her thoughts, the boy through some sub-
tle sympathy; he had known many such
nights as this before.

She cleared away the dishes and put
the boy to bed, then went into the front
room. The Major had stumbled away to
bed.

She sat down at the little table by the

Her lips trembled and she hesitated a moment before she added: "Your Orderly has been
faithful and guarded your tent well this far, shall I send him with you to-night f"

window and putting her head on her
arms sat there all night.

In the morning the Major was himself
again. He came into the kitchen with his
fine old head with its tinge of white held

high, trying to bravely face the weary
eyes of the woman. He went over to
where she was by the stove and put his
arm across her shoulders. She made no
response to the caress, but turned and

52

THE MAJOR'S NEW YEAR.

went out on the porch, the Major with a
half sigh, followed her. She stood for a
while with her head leaning against the
post; it throbbed and ached from her
long night's vigil and her eyes felt as
heavy and dull as her heart.

"Major," she said finally, there was a
world of meaning in the word. The Ma-
jor hung his head contritely at the tone.

"Yes, I know, Kate," — after a pause —
"Did the boy see?"

She shook her head wearily. "I don't
know. What does it matter for one
time ? think of the times he has seen you.
You are an old man, Major, a man who
has defended his country and been hon-
ored by it ; an upright man in everything
but this ; one that the boy could be proud
of in everything but this."

The Major's proud old head lowered.

"It's the rheumatism, you know it,
Kate," he said a little pleadingly. "It's
from that bullet I got at Shiloh. You've
never had the rheumatism, Kate, you
don't know how it takes a man off his
feet."

He came a little nearer and went on
persuasively.

"When it sets in this right leg, it's like
the night at Shiloh. It seems like I can
feel the bullet tearing its way through.
You oughtn't to condemn a man for get-
ting relief from a pain like that."

She turned her head, and in spite of
herself, a little amused look crept into
her eyes.

"You never seem to feel that bullet so
vividly onlv on pension days, Major.
Don't the rheumatism set in only on the
days you go to town ?"

"Now, Kate," he began expostulat-
ing^.

Her face darkened and she turned her
head away.

"No, no," she cried, "It's only the hab-
it, the love for drink, that I have fought
and prayed against for nearly thirty
years ; but it's all of no use and now it's
at an end."

She turned and held out her hands.
"Think what I have given up to try and
win this fight, home and friends and ev-
erything that T held dear, but you. Ma-
jor. We made exiles of ourselves and
came here to a new country that you

might have a chance to free yourself
from the old associates and begin again,
but it's of no use."

"Now, Kate — " he began again, but
she went on.

"When you used to wish for a son. I
was glad our only child was a girl, for
fear the boy would inherit the taste of the
father, and when our daughter married
and went away, I was glad that then
there would be no one here but me to see
your humiliation. Then when she died
and her boy came to us I thought that
surely now your love for the child would
change you ; you, an old man, who knew
and acknowledged the evil it had been to
you. But your love for the child was
like your love for your wife and your
daughter, and even your good name, it
was weighed in the balance and found
wanting in your love for drink."

The Major caught her by the arm.
"Kate, Kate," he cried. "Yes," she said
bitterly, "it's the truth and it hurts. But
it's all at an end now ; what I do now
must be for the child's sake. If you
could, see him, Major, when I shut him
away from you, sympathizing and feel-
ing sorry for you in his little heart, stag-
gering unsteadily in imitation of you
across the floor and asking if you are
sick 'like that ?' " She put her head on her
arm, crying softly. After a while, she
raised her head.

"He believes in you, you are every-
thing that is good to him. Could I take
him and tell him what you really are ?
Even now he imitates you in everything in
his childish way ; and after a while, as he
grows older and the love and friendship
between you two grows stronger, sup-
pose he should follow you and by exam-
ple make of his life what you have made
of yours ? So it's for you to decide, Ma-
jor, between the child and the liquor.
I'm an old woman to give up my home
and face the world alone, but if you de-
cide for the drink, I'll take the child and
go, and if you follow and find me, I'll
hide again. I could not face his mother
in Heaven nor the Master if I let my love
for my home and my comfort stand be-
tween me and my duty to the child."

There were tears on her cheeks, but
she held her head up determinedly.

GRACE SHEETS.

53

The Major stood with his head bent. "I
know what you say is true, Kate, and I
know that you mean it. I'm an old man
as you say, and it's hard to teach an old
dog new tricks; but give me till New
Years, Kate ; that'll be the test. I give
you my word, I'll try."

He turned and went into the room
where the child lay sleeping, his little rosy
face pressed against the pillow.

The Major stood and looked at him,
there was much in the faces alike. When
he took him proudly on some of his trips
to the county-seat, the men often re-
marked how much the boy was like his
grandfather. He threw out one sturdy
little sunbrowned hand across the pillow,
the Major stooped and put his lips soft-
ly to his forehead. "Could he give him
up?" he thought. "Why the child was
like a breath of fresh life to him."

That Kate would keep her word he
fully believed ; he knew her strength of
will and character ; as he stood there, it
came back to him how bravely she had
given up the old home for his sake ; how
loyal and uncomplaining she had been in
their earlv struggle in this new country
and he knew how low he might have sunk
but for her upholding hand. She had
done all this because she believed her first
duty was for him, but now another duty
claimed her, and he knew she would
follow it through whatever hardships it
might present.

A wave of tenderness and remorse
went over his heart ; he went back into
the kitchen.

"Kate," he said, she was mixing some
biscuit dough and stopped to look up.
"I've made up my mind, not only for the
boy but for you. Give me till New
Years, New Year's Eve will be the test,
I get my pension money then." He be-
gan laughing a little— "Forgive me, Kate,
Kate, I can't help it, I was just thinking
what a disappointment there'll be over
to the county-seat. It'll be the first New
Years' Eve in thirty years that 'The
Major' hasn't been on a glorious drunk."

She cut her biscuit dough happily,
somehow the words sounded good to her,
"It'll be the first New Year's Eve in
thirty years that the Major hasn't been
on a glorious drunk," She kept repeat-

ing them to herself; the crudity of the
words she did not feel.

She waked the boy with a kiss and
helped him to dress, then she put the hot
biscuits and the rest of the breakfast
on the table and called the Major.

"Hi ! Major," the boy called as he came
to the door, and saluted with his hand
to his forehead. The Major saluted in
return and took him up in his arms.

"How are you, Corporal? I'm going
to make you my Orderly this morning."

"Is it a promotion?" the boy cried de-
lightedly.

"Yes," said the Major, "now you have
charge of my tent and the Major, too.
You must see that nothing comes into
the tent but what belongs there."

The boy saluted again. "What shall
I keep out, Major, tell me some of the
things to keep out?"

The Major put his hand into his pock-
et. "This," he said, and pulled out an
old army canteen. "Take it, Orderly, it
has no right now in the Major's tent. It's
been there for nearly forty years, but
it's no right there longer. If you guard
it faithfully, and don't let the enemy take
it until after the New Years, you'll have
been a brave soldier and ready for an-
other promotion."

"A brave soldier's one like you, Ma-
jor, isn't he? one who never gives in to
the enemy?"

"Yes," replied the Major and added to
himself, "Who never gave in to any
enemy but one."

The time slipped along and the day
before New Years came. In the after-
noon the Major hitched up the mules and
came back to the house. Kate watched
him wistfully and anxiously, as he came
up on the porch, she put her hand lov-
ingly on his arm, he stopped on the step
and looked up at her.

"You've made a brave fight this far,
Major, fight your last battle and win to-
night." Her lips trembled and she hesi-
tated a moment before she added : "Your
Orderly has been faithful and guarded
your tent well this far ; shall I send him
with you to-night?"

He knew what it meant for her to say
that, how much faith she must have in
his effort. If he withstood the tempta-

54

THE MAJOR'S NEW YEAR.

tion they both knew he was going into,
it was safe for the child, but if not — why
it might mean injury or death on the wild
ride home.

He stood silently a moment then he
straightened his shoulders.

"Send my Orderly along, for if I need
him, he'll prove a brave soldier."

She turned and went into the house.
Her hands trembled and she could hardly
see to fasten the child's coat, she felt
something- hard in the pocket.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's the canteen, mother, I have to
take it if I go ; for to-night's New Year's
Eve and the Major said if I guarded it
carefully and didn't let the enemy take it
then I'd be a brave soldier and ready
for promotion."

For a moment her heart seemed to
stand still — if the Major should know he
had it with him — the canteen he had
drunk from all these years !

"Couldn't you leave it with mother?"
she asked. Her voice sounded dry and
harsh.

He straightened his shoulders in imi-
tation of the Major.

"No, a brave soldier always guards
his things himself, mother."

"Be a brave soldier then and guard it
bravely. God be with you that he help
you keep the enemy away."

"Amen," said the Major from the door.
"He had heard then and' knew," she
thought ; she kissed them both and went
with them to the wa^on. After they had
gone she came back to the house and sat

down at the little table where she had
sat that night three months before. She
tried not to think, but prayed hopefully.
Late in the night she heard the distant
rattle of the wagon and sat silently wait-
ing ; it seemed years before she heard the
wagon stop and she heard the steps on
the porch. The door opened and the
Major lead the boy into the room. The
light blinded him for a moment, coming
out of the dark, then he saw her sitting
by the table. He ran and threw his arms
around her neck, then he pulled the can-
teen from his pocket.

"See, mother, I guarded it, guarded it
bravely." He slipped down off her lap
and saluted. "Now, Major, please, may
I have my promotion ?"

Kate stood up trembling and looked
from the straight little soldierly figure
standing at "attention" to the' other sol-
dier who had fought his hardest battle
that day. The Major placed his hand on
the boy's head.

"Yes, Lieutenant, you've made a brave
fight and safely guarded your tent and
saved the Major. The New Year's day
is past, Kate, hear the clock is striking
twelve, and I've won the battle and con-
quered the enemy. Once the temptation
came to me and I asked him for the can-
teen. He looked up and asked, 'Are you
the enemy?' and I thought of your faith
and the bov, and I said, 'Yes.' He fold-
ed his little arms across his chest and
said, 'Major, I'm sorry, but I must guard
it, guard it safely.' "

When we defy God and deify gold we are facing the only "yellow peril."

The one who is given to nagging should be compelled to hasten through life
with the speed of a race horse.

Whether at home or in Rome do not as Romes does, but as right requires.

When the energies are aimlessly diffused, the path of life is hopelessly con-
fused.

Dissipation always spells disappointment and despair.

RICHARD MANSFIELD

By BERTHA E. ENDERLE

ROBABLY no actor on the
English-speaking stage
has had a greater variety
of criticism than Richard
Mansfield, nor is more in-
different to it ; for. like
all true workers, he believes that work
well done is its own reward. "Love your
work, then you will do it well," is his
motto.

Born in Heligoland, a possession of
Great Britain in the North Sea, in 1857,
his nature, like the land of his birth, was
unshakeable. His mother, from whom
he inherited his great
talent for the stage,
was Emma Ruders-
dorff, the celebrated
opera singer. To her,
and to his teachers as
well, the education of
the young Richard,
presented a problem
almost without solu-
tion, as they failed to
see in the peculiari-
ties of his nature
which early asserted
themselves, the man-
ifestations of genius.
"Clever but im-
possible," was the
verdict of tutors as,
one by one, they re-
signed their charge.
"He will never be
educated," was the
final decision of his
instructors, but in
spite of these predic-
tions, Mr. Mansfield
has become a man
of many accomplish-
ments and much
learning.

At the age of ten,
he was placed in a
school in Germany,
where his artistic
tastes led to his
painting the door of
his room a bright

green. Proud of this accomplishment,
he signed his name to it and reaped
a fitting reward. His education seem-
ed to be obtained largely by ab-
sorption, as he traveled in England
and on the continent, the greater pari ot
his boyhood. In Italy, he added to his
store of learning, some knowledge of
painting ; some musical technique in
Germany ; and in England, a love for
and understanding of Shakespeare. At
Derby, he played Shylock at a class-day
exhibition. The Bishop of Litchfield, an
interest^ observer, said of the perform-

Richard Mansfield.

56

RICHARD MANSFIELD.

Richard Mansfield as "Napoleon."

ance : "God forbid that I should urge
you to become an actor, but if you did,
you would be a great one."

In 1869, his mother came to this coun-
try, becoming a vocal teacher of some
note in Boston ; Richard, who was then
studying in Switzerland, was sent for.
Having considerable knowledge of for-
eign languages, he obtained a position
with Jordan, Marsh and Company, as
translator, with a salary of fifteen dol-
lars a week, but disliking commercial
life, he soon gave it up for journalism.
As dramatic critic, his severity to players
earned for him the title, "The merciless."
He resigned this position because the

owner of the newspaper desired a favor-
able opinion of an actor whom Mans-
field considered unworthy.

In 1875, he returned to England,
where he obtained a scant living as a
painter. "For seven years," he said, "I
starved. Yes, literally and actually
starved. You may not believe it, but
it's true." When the days were darkest,
a hot potato served a double purpose ;
first, warming his hands ; then, staying
his stomach. Such hardships as these
have given the real Mansfield a rare
knowledge of and sympathy for suffer-
ing, for which few give him credit. An
illustration of this is given by Gustav
Kobbe.

When calling a messenger boy, one
rainy day, a ragged urchin with holes in
his shoes responded. After looking him
over, Mr. Mansfield, without a word,
went down on his knees to take the
measure of the boy's feet. While he
despatched a hotel boy to buy a pair of
rubber boots, the great actor entertained
the child with stories and fed him with
hot soup. Afterward, protected against
the weather, the astonished and grateful
messenger went on his errand.

Being somewhat of a musician, Mans-
field was engaged to play an evening in
St. George's hall, but lost the engage-
ment because weakness rendered him
unable to sit up straight on the piano
stool. Later, he became an actor in Eng-
land.

In 1882, he made his first appearance
on the American Stage in "Les Man-
teaux Noirs," at the old "Standard
Theater" in New York, and also ap-
peared as "Nick Vedder" in "Rip Van
Winkle." He came to the stage without
a friend and though his acting was
"clean-cut and virile," his earliest en-
gagements left him no testimonials of
his merits. In 1883, he was engaged for
a minor role, in "A Parisian Romance."
While waiting for rehearsals, he played
in Baltimore, as "Lord Chancellor" in
"Iolanthe." While dancing, he sprained
his ankle but finished the performance
and took the train to New York that
night, only reaching his boarding-house
to fall in a swoon on the floor, The next

BERTHA E. ENDERLE.

57

Richard Mansfield and Beatrice Cameron in
"Arms and the Man."

morning at ten, however, he was found
at a rehearsal for "A Parisian Ro-
mance."

J. H. Stoddard, who was cast for the
role of the "Baron Chevrial," declined
the part, saying he saw nothing in it.
The face of the young Mansfield kindled
with delight as he begged permission
to act the part. "I see something in it,"
he said. "Let me take it."

"You may try," said Palmer, and he
did. More than that, his success was
complete and instantaneous. Erom an
unknown actor, he fairly burst upon
New York as a star of unusual power
and brilliancy. Had it been in the pres-
ent day, the newspapers would have de-
voted pages to the past, present, and
future of the actor newly risen to dis-
tinction, but to become famous in one
night was evidently considered less of an
event then than now.

The New York Tribune, January II,
1883, reads as follows : "The acting of
Mr. Mansfield in the senile roue and de-
bauched reprobate carried the play last
night and made for the actor an in-

stantaneous reputation. Mr. Mansfield
had three recalls after the death scene
and tumults of acclamation."

The Herald gives this account: "Mr.
Richard Mansfield as the "Baron Chev-
rial" obtained an immense success. We
cannot commend too highly the skill with
which Mr. Mansfield builds this part, the
infinity of fine touches, the mastery of
the French art of composition."

In 1886, Mansfield produced "Prince
Karl," with Beatrice Cameron as lead-
ing lady. He was much pleased with
her acting, and the pleasure he felt in
her society as leading lady, soon deepen-
ed into something stronger and he asked
her to be his wife. His deep affection
for her and for their son, George Gibbs
Mansfield, is shown in many ways, most
especially perhaps, in the maintenance
of a handsome house on Riverside Drive,
New York. After the birth of their
child, Mrs. Mansfield retired from the
stage, only appearing upon the urgent
request of her husband and friends, for
one night, in "Arms and the Man," dur-
ing the second Cyrano season.

Richard Mansfield in a "Parisian Romance."

58

RICHARD MANSFIELD.

Richard Mansfield as "Don Juan."

In 1887, "Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde,"
was first produced ; in 1889, "Richard
III"; in 1890, "Beau Brummel," one of
his best and most popular plays.

A pretty little story is told of the
great actor in connection with this play.
In "Richard III," the part of the Prince
of Wales was taken by a little girl. Dur-
ing the engagement, she was taken sick,
and Mr. Mansfield, with the kindness
said by those who know him best to be
characteristic of him, paid not only her's
but her mother's bills at the hospital and
made her daily visits. Tt was the child's
intense desire to see him in "Beau Brum-

mel," and Mansfield promised her she
should. But as she continued to grow
worse, the child awoke to the hopeless-
ness of her case, and said: "I'm afraid
I shall not live to see "Beau Brummel."
On his next visit, Mansfield, throwing
off his long outer coat, appeared in all
the finery of the exquisite and .historic
hero. To the intense delight of the
child, and with his utmost skill, he por-
trayed the principal parts of the play.
This tenderness to children is a part of
the man. To him, they are irresistible.

Since that time, the number and va-
riety of his plays have proven Mr. Mans-
field to be an accomplished and versatile
actor ; nor is this all. As an artist of
"make-up," he is probably without an
equal, and he ranks with the best as a
stage producer. Among his most nota-
ble plays are : "Cyrano de Bergerac,"
"The First Violin," "Monsieur Beau-
caire," "Julius Caesar," "Old Heidel-
berg," "Ivan the Terrible," and "The
Misanthrope."

Mansfield makes no lover ; his wonder-
ful abilities as an actor, fall far short in
sentimental scenes ; many criticise his
elocution, but all agree that : "There is
one thing always to be said for Mr.
Mansfield, whether we think his Brutus
good or bad, or his Karl Hcins, interest-
ing or dull, and that is he applies artistic
judgment to the manner in which he
presents any of his plays."

Mr. Mansfield has his company re-
duced to a system and each member of
it has to work hard to maintain the high
standard of excellence which he re-
quires, but the head sets for his subordi-
nates an example of tireless energy and
indefatigable labor as he is the first to
enter and the last to leave the theater.

Aside from his success as an actor,
which came to hii,, early in life, Mans-
field has many other accomplishments ;
he sings, plays the piano and violin, and
has composed a small volume of songs
entitled, "One Evening, being an En-
tertainment of Songs Both Grave and
Gay"; he is a fine linguist, speaking
French, German and Italian ; while
among the products of his pen are a
book and three plays.

"EXTRA 1748 WEST"

By C. E. ESSELSTYNE

HAD followed newspaper
reporting for a number
of years in various parts
of the United States, and
often being detailed on
railroad "stories,"' I found
them difficult to write, owing to my ig-
norance of railroad technicalities and the
practical work in that line. I had ac-
cordingly made up my mind at the first
opportunity to engage in "real" railroad-
ing and acquire enough actual experience
in the business to enable me to write up
an ordinary wreck, without mixing the
drawheads with the "switch lists," or a
hose coupling with a train order, as 1
had often done, much to the amusement
of my railroad friends.

Recently I had been employed on a
Nevada daily and through the chief train
dispatcher on the Fresh Water division
of the P. S., I learned that" the road was
short of trainmen. Here was my oppor-
tunity, and the next time I met Mr. Jay,
the chief dispatcher, with whom I had
become quite friendly, I asked him to
get employment for me on the road. He
informed me that if I could pass the phy-
sical examination I could probably go to
work as a freight brakeman. He advised
me to call on S. Behrman, assistant su-
perintendent on his division, for further
information.

On mv first opportunity I called at the
assistant superintendent's office at
Flames, the division terminal, was ex-
amined, had a metal badge, a switch key,
book of rules and a time card given me,
was ordered to report to the yard master
at Muccawin as a full-fledged railroad
brakeman, and given strict charge to
forever walk, talk and act as such.

I reported at Muccawin and the yard-
master wrote my name on a small card
and placed it On a board at the bottom
of a long line of similar cards. He then
informed me that I was. "twenty-six
times out, on the slew-board," and that

the call boy would call me when I was
needed.

Every day, for twenty-one consecutive
days, found me sitting in front of my ho-
tel anxiously awaiting the approach of
that call boy. 1 did not dare leave the
hotel, night nor day ; fearing he might
come for me and I would thus miss a
call, which I thought would put me upon
the "black list."

For twenty-one days I sat and listened
to other occupants of the "slow board"
"pull out drawheads," "chain up," "make
drops," "switch Buck Spur," "dead-head
to Flames," "run by orders," "overlook
his mit," etc., etc., until I was nearly wild
to make a trip and see what some of
those terms meant. I was too much
ashamed of my greenness to ask and
neither my book of rules nor time card
told me anything about them.

At last my opportunity came. A small
circus stopped at the town and while I
stood watching the parade "Sandy" Jen-
kins came up and asked me if I wanted
to "go out." He explained that he was
just called to go east" on Extra 1744, but
wanted to "lay over and take his girl to
tiie show."

The trip to Linear was without incident
and practically all I had to do was "hold
down" the fireman's seat on the engine.
Nevertheless, when we arrived in Linear
at about 7 o'clock that evening I was
nearlv "all in" from the shaking and
pounding of old engine 1744. As soon
as T had eaten supper I sought my bunk
in the caboose, and, as Foxy Grandpa.
my conductor, said that we would "have
all night in the hay, as there was nuthin'
comin'," I prepared for a good night's
rest. Foxy Grandpa and Gloomy Gus,
the rear brakeman, went out to "see the
town."

Just as I was dreaming of making a
record run on the general manager's
special, I was rudely awakened by the
call boy shouting in my ear, "Twelve-

6o

"EXTRA 1748 WEST"

fifty, west." I said I didn't care, and
turned over to take a fresh start. He
continued shaking me, however, until he
had succeeded in thoroughly awakening
me, when he placed his mouth close to
my ear and said, "Look out for yourself
to-night, brother ; the 'captain' and the
'hind shack' have both got their tonnage."

I hastily dressed, grabbed my lanterns,
and rushed over to the hotel, bolted a
sandwich, gulped down a cup of hot
coffee, and suddenly remembered that I
did not know where my train was. Luck-
ily I remembered the number of our ca-
boose. I found it away at the east end of
the yard, attached to a long string of cars
which I reasoned must be the train we
were to take out. I followed along this
string of cars, pondering on the words
the call boy had spoken in my ear, and
for the life of me I could not make out
what he had meant. "Look out for your-
self to-night, brother ; the 'captain' and
the 'hind shack' have both got their ton-
nage." That it was a warning I was
certain ; but against what ?

After traversing the length of 58 cars,
I finally found engine 1748' attached to
the west end of the string and asked the
fireman what time we were called for.
He replied, "Twelve-fifty."

Soon the engineer came along, study-
ing a handful of orders by the flickering
light of his torch. "Looks like we ought
to make Scrap Hill for the circus train,"
said he, climbing upon his engine.

A little later I saw a lantern swing in
a peculiar way near where the caboose
was. The fireman saw it and called out,
"High ball." The engineer responded
with a "toot, toot," from his whistle, and
with many snorts, groans, creaks and
some "squealing" brake shoes, our hoo-
doo trip was commenced.

As soon as the train began to move I
climbed upon the engine and immediately
went over to the engineer and told him
that I was on my maiden trip and asked
him to coach me ; that I was willing and
would do anything he told me to do.

"I see that," said he.

"What," I asked.

"Don't you hear them brakes squealing
back there ?"

"Is that what it is," said I, and turning
back, clambered over the tender and up
on to the train. Two or three cars back
I found a brake set pretty snugly. After
some difficulty I succeeded in releasing
it when all "squealing" ceased. The
engineer responded with a low "toot,
toot," and I picked my way charily over
the now fiercely rocking cars back to the
engine.

The engineer, whom I will call Mr.
Black, proved to be one of the finest fel-
lows who pulled throttles on that division.

We rattled along at a good pace past
several stations until finally the sema-
phore at Wewebaw showed red. As
there is a tank at this station, Mr. Black
said we would take water there, and ac-
cordingly stopped his train a short dis-
tance to the eastward of the tank. Un-
der his direction I cut off the engine and
he ran down to the tank, replenished his
water supply, pulled back and I coupled
the engine to the train. The engineer
climbed down with his oil can and torch.
As soon as I came near him he said,
"Wonder what's the matter back there ?"

"Say, Mr. Black," said I,' "tell me
something, will you ? When the call boy
awakened me in Linear, he said, 'The
captain' and 'hind shack' have both got
their tonnage,' what did he mean?"

"I thought so." he exclaimed. "Now,
see here; they've got the board on us
here ; that means orders. You hustle back
to the hind end and pull that conductor
out and make him come up and get them.
We'll be holdin' up that circus train pret-
ty soon an' then there'll be something
a-popin' sure. Hike!"

I hiked. When I arrived at the ca-
boose I found no one in sight. I went
inside, swung my lamp around and dis-
covered a bunk pulled down and from
under the blankets I pulled out Foxy
Grandpa, "dead to the world." Leaving
him I went back to the cupola, climbed
up and there was Gloomy Gus in a like
condition. I rolled him off the seat and
finally roused him enough to make him
understand that there were orders to be
gotten, and asked him to see that the con-
ductor came up to get them. I then re-
turned to the engine and reported to Mr.

C. fi. FSSFlLSTYNF.

61

Black. He raged and swore beautifully.

Soon, however, Gloomy came stagger-
ing along, went into the station, got the
orders and returning gave the engineer
his copies and we pulled out. Mr. Black
said we would try to make Nyros for the
circus train and that we might make it
"by the skin of our teeth." If we did
not, he added, there was no place between
here and there where we could "get in."
and we would then meet them on the
main line, "an" then there 'd be doin's."

The orders gave the circus train "right
of track" over us and said that it would
wait at Scrap Hill until such a time, at
Nyros until such a time, and Mr. Black-
figured that by making- a fast run for
about twenty-six miles we could make
Nyros in time to flag the opposing train
and get "in" out of the way.

With throttle wide open old 1748 set-
tled down to business and the way she
"ate up" that stretch of track was a
caution. Glancing back toward the rear
of the train, I wondered that some of
those bobbing cars did not leave the rails.

Suddenly rounding a curve at the foot
of a hill, about five miles from Nyros, a
level stretch of country came into view,
and there, just leaving Scrap Hill, was
the circus train, exactly on time. We had
two minutes time in which to make Ny-
ros. Four miles in two minutes, never!
Our hope was that the oncoming train
had seen lis. But this was not likely, as
their engineer was on the opposite side,
and the long curve between the two trains
hid us from his view.

"Smoke her up, tallow pot, old boy,
and make them see us," shouted Black to
his fireman, and turning to me he said,
"Get out your red light, back it up with
your white one, and get up there and
swing it like fury."

On we thundered. Now we descended
a grade and our speed was something
terrific. On came the circus train. They
passed the first switch light at Nyros, and
still they did not slacken speed. On, on
they came. Now they passed the east
switch light. Still they did not see us.

"No use," shouted Black. "We've got
to stop. Here, Brakie, you climb out on
the pilot and when I slow down so that

you can run faster than we go, hop off
and for God*s sake, get ahead and stop
that tram or you won't have any more
job than a jackrabbit."

I climbed along the side of the sway-
ing engine, mistook a steam pipe for the
hand rail and severely burned my hands,
nearly causing me to loose my hold and
fall from the train.

Finally, however, I reached the pilot
in safety and the train slowing down I
sprang off and ran for dear life down the
center of the track, waving my lanterns
franctically. When I had gotten proba-
bly twenty car lengths ahead those on the
circus train saw me, answered my signals
and stopped. When the two trains came
to a standstill they were less than an
eighth ofa mile apart.

The circus train then backed up past
the switch at Nyros. I went with it and
as soon as all was clear opened the switch
and signalled my train to come on. When
Mr. Black attempted to start he pulled
out a drawhead about the middle of the
train. It happened to be one of those
abominable continuous affairs and the
long rod projecting ten or twelve feet
from the rear of the car made it impos-
sible to chain up. Mr. Black finally
brought in the front section and the dis-
abled car, then we returned and got the
balance of the train.

After delaying the circus train about an
hour we were able to let it by and then
we found that we would have to wait
there to clear the limited which was about
due.

The limited out of the way and an hour
spent in maneuvering to get our train
together and the disabled car on the sid-
ing again, we found that we had just
time to go to Scrap Hill to get out of the
way of No. 4, a first-class train.

This we did, and after getting orders
and leaving Scrap Hill, we breathed a
sigh of relief, for our orders and time
card told us we had no opposing trains.
We ought to reach the end of our run in
less than three hours. But this was not
to be.

We were pounding along at a lively
clip and everything going smoothlv. I
had pre-empted the front end of the fire-

62

"EXTRA 1748 WEST"

man's seat and with my weary legs
stretched out in the small space between
the boiler and the side of the engine cab,
I was more than half asleep. The clang-
ing of the fireman's shovel had just ceas-
ed, and I felt his body against mine as he
sat behind me on the remaining portion
of the seat for a moment's rest. Sudden-
ly a deafening report rent the air, follow-
ed by the awful hiss and roar of escaping
steam. I sprang completely over the fire-
man and landed in a heap on the iron
deck, in front of the fire box. I crawled
through the gangway and down to the
lower step on the tender. Hanging there
upon the handrails, I looked around. The
roar of escaping steam was deafening,
and its volume completely obscured the
interior of the cab, the tender and the
train from my view. What had become
of the engineer and fireman, I asked my-
self. Were they roasting in that seething
maelstrom of vapor?

As these questions forced themselves
into my confused brain, I climbed up a
step or two and put my head into the
gangway. The cab was flooded with boil-
ing water and the scalding vapor instant-
ly drove me back to my former position.
I called at the top of my voice but could
not even hear myself. What to do I did
not know.

Imagine my position. A green brake-
man clinging to an engine rushing along
at a speed of twenty-five or thirty miles
an hour, the engineer and fireman God
knows where ; maybe blown off the train,
or lying disabled in the cab scalding to
death. I thought there was something
I could do, but what ? I would have given
worlds for a little practical knowledge.
Another thought struck me just then.
With all that water escaping it would not
be long ere the flues would be uncovered,
and with the fiercely hot fire I knew was
in the fire box, was there not danger of
an explosion? If I dropped to the ground
I would probably escape with a few
bruises ; if I stayed on the engine I might
land in eternity.

After a few minutes debate with my-
self I decided to stick to my post no mat-
ter what happened. Looking ahead I
saw that we were ascending a slight

grade and with joy I noticed that our
speed was slightly diminishing. Just
then I glanced backward and to my in-
tense relief I saw the forms of my com-
panions crouching upon the rear end of
the tender, eagerly peering through the
clouds of steam. We caught sight of
each other simultaneously and each
waved our hands and shouted with joy.
Although it was impossible to hear, we
could each see the movement of the
other's lips.

Soon the train came to a stop. We
dropped to the ground and went away
into the sage brush to a point about 500
feet from the engine to where we could
hear one another and consult. The engi-
neer said that we had just passed a siding
called Eglon, and were about 11 or 12
miles from Muccawin, the end of our
run. He also said that our first duty to
the company was to save the engine, and
to do that it was necessary to draw the
fire and dump the grates, thus getting the
fire from under the boiler, otherwise she
would "blow up."

This we at once proceeded to do, and
while the fireman and I took turns at this
scalding job, the engineer climbed to the
top of the cab and discovered that a pipe
had burst from its connection at the "nig-
ger-head," and by reaching through a
ventilator he succeeded in closing a valve
which stopped the escaping steam and
water, at the expense of a scalded hand.
The water had become so low in the boil-
er, however, that the engine had to be
"killed."

While we were thus engaged, Foxy
Grandpa came up and taking in the situ-
ation, said, "Well, I don't feel much like
hiking to Muccawin." I promptly vol-
unteered to go and was brusquely inform-
ed that my place was by the train.

After conversing together a few min-
utes, the engineer and conductor started
off down the track toward Muccawin. I
watched them until they rounded a curve
and passed from my view. Then I turn-
ed my attention to the surrounding coun-
try. Nothing in sight but sage brush,
except about a mile away to the north
was a small, lonely looking ranch house.
The sight of that little house recalled the

Suddenly a deafening report rent the air, followed by the awful hiss and roar of escaping
steam. I sprang completely over the fireman and landed in a heap on the iron deck in front
of the fire box. I crawled through the gang-way and down to the lower step on the tender.

64

"EXTRA 1748 WEST"

fact that I was very tired, sleepy and su-
premely hungry. I could not keep my
eyes away from that house, for it spelled
comfort for some one, and I was especial-
ly uncomfortable just now.

What are those ? Surely those new
poles near the house are telephone poles.
Look ; a long line of them extend as far
as the eye can reach toward Muccawin.
I shouted for joy, sprang to my feet and
raced across the mesa to the ranch. Sure
enough the wires led to the house ; they
must have connection with Muccawin.

Arriving at the open door, a glance
within showed me the valuable instru-
ment on the wall. It also showed me a
little Jap (who no doubt mistook me for
a tramp, grimy and dirty as I was) ad-
vancing toward me with a threatening
air. "I want to use your phone," said I,
bolting toward the instrument.

The Jap attempted to stop me, saying,
"No use him ; man not here." I flung
him to one side, rang the bell, grabbed the
receiver and yelled "Gimme Muccawin."
"You've got it," floated back in the lan-
guid voice of the operator. "Give me the
P. S. yardmaster," said I. "No phone,"
answered she of the tired voice, and I
heard a click as though she were cutting
me off. "Hold on there, my girl," I call-

ed frantically. "If you value the good
will of the P. S. Railroad Company, take
this message and send it to the yard-
master at once."

I dictated a message telling him of, our
plight and asking for an engine to bring
us in. When I had finished she asked
"Who are you." I told her to never mind
who I was ; that I was only a brakeman,
but to hurry that message for we were
starving to death.

I then ran out and down the track,
overtaking Foxy Grandpa and Mr. Black
a short distance around the bend. I told
them what I had done. Foxy slapped his
thigh and remarked, "Well, I never
thought of that."

In a short time a fresh engine arrived,
was coupled on and we were soon in
Muccawin, our troubles ended for that
trip.

I would like to be able to say, in con-
clusion, that I was called before the su-
perintendent and thanked, at least, for
my faithfulness, attention to the com-
pany's interests, and the discharge of my
duty to the best of my meagre ability.
Strict truth, however, compels me to say
that I did not even receive a merit mark,
and that the circumstance was never
mentioned, to my knowledge.

Whole heartedness in worship makes a holy heart in the worshiper.

Unrestrained violence becomes well trained viciousness.

Delight in duty softens its severities.

The true purpose of discussion is not to rout an opponent, but to reach the
truth.

One must not only be good, but good for something.

There is a radical relation between church going and character growing.

A germ is better than a gem, for while the latter glows with light, the for-
mer grows with life.

It is better to fall below a high mark than to exactly hit a low one.

The occupation of the hand proves the preoccupation of the mind.

REGINA AND THE ROYAL NORTHWEST
MOUNTED POLICE

By HERBERT VANDERHOOF

AW and order and the fear
of God — this is the lesson
which the Royal North-
west Mounted Police have
taught Western Canada.
Regina, the headquarters
of this sturdy corps of eight hundred
men, is the embodiment of the spirit
which has always dominated them — the
spirit of prosperity, progress, real civil-
ization.

Back in the seventies a small band of
hardy roughriders invaded the region
lying between Lake Superior on the east,
the Pacific Coast on the west, the border
line on the south and the Arctic circle on
the north. It was a region reigned over
by the Indian, where the six-shooter was
the supreme court. Those red-coated
riders took British law with them and es-
tablished it. When settlement came, its
house had "been put in order to receive it.
Regina owes much to the mounted po-
lice, as do other Western Canadian cities.
She is a growing city already great, and
destined to be greater. Into the valley of
the Saskatchewan are pouring settlers
from every point of the compass, settlers
whom no marauder may disturb in their
possessions. The peace and quiet of their
homes is an assured thing.

But peace and security, great as they
intrinsically are do not make up the full
measure of Regina's inducements nor ac-
count for the ever-increasing stream of
people which the railways daily deposit
at her portals. For nowhere in America
are hard work and well-directed energy
better repaid to-day than in the Province
of Saskatchewan, the province of which
Regina is the hub.

First, therefore, let me tell you some-
thing of the home-city of the Royal
Northwest Mounted Police, and then
something of the men themselves. As I
have said, the spirit of insistent activity
dominates both.

Regina, the capital and commercial
center of the province of Saskatchewan,
offers great natural and material induce-
ments for the location of manufacturing
enterprises. It is surrounded by the old-
est and best settled portion of the prov-
ince, and the area in the neighborhood
of the city is most fertile and productive.
The district has become famous for the
quality and quantity of grain which it
raises from year to year. The consump-
tive demand for all classes of goods is
steadily increasing, and the volume of
trade shows an enormous growth, espec-
ially in comparison with the beginning o
the present century. The city has de
veloped in many ways, and the expansion
has spread over several branches of com-
mercial activity.

It is toward the sphere of manufac-
tures, however, that Regina's interest is
chiefly directed at the present time.
There is no doubt that articles manufac-
tured in Western Canada will always
have the call among the western con-
sumers, other things being equal. This
species of local patriotism is attracting
the attention of many firms which are
doing business in Saskatchewan, and for
this reason several manufacturers are
considering the advisability of establish-
ing factories in the province. The pro-
blem of a possible location is determined
largely by the facilities and inducements
which a city or town offers.

In this connection Regina is ambitious ;
she considers herself the natural commer-
cial center of the province, and she is
prepared to maintain that position. She
has for many years been a big rail-
way point of the Canadian Pacific Rail-
way between Brandon and Calgary, and
recent developments have accentuated
her importance from the standpoint of
transportation.

Mackenzie & Mann, the owners of the
Canadian Northern Railway system,

The Famous Royal Northwest Mounted Police.

have purchased the Qu'Appelle, Long
Lake & Saskatchewan Railway, which
runs from Regina to Prince Albert, a dis-
tance of 250 miles, with the intention of
securing a portion of the trade which ra-
diates from the capital. They have sur-
veyed a line from the Manitoba boundary
westward to Regina, and will lay the rails
as soon as the necessary labor and mater-
ial can be procured. This will give them
a loop around the most important por-
tion of the province, with Regina as a
central point in their line. The Grand
Trunk Pacific has, through General Man-
ager Morse, announced its intention of
building three lines to Regina, thus mak-
ing the city the center of the southern
portion of its system. One of these lines
will run to Yorkton to meet the main
line ; the second will run to Brandon
direct, and the third to North Portal, on
the American boundary. The Great
Xorthern, or Hill system, which will en-
ter Saskatchewan from North Dakota, is
expected to contribute materially to the
strength of the city's railway position.
The plans of Mr. Hill have not yet been
definitely announced, but it is confident-

ly believed that he will build through
Regina on his wav to Edmonton.

The industries which Regina is most
anxious to secure are those which will
find their raw material at her doors.
These include flour mills, cereal mills of
various kinds, vinegar factories, distill-
eries, ilax mills, oil mills, and similar en-
terprises. The extensive cattle ranges
of the province furnish material for the
packing establishments and their allied
industries, such as soap factories, glue
factories, and other concerns which make
use of the by-products of the packing
plants.

The principle of municipal assistance
does not receive, enthusiastic support in
Regina, but it is realized that some meas-
ure of aid might be granted in order to
encourage manufacturers to come in at
once. It is likely that heavy inducements
will be offered to industries which can
obtain their raw material in Saskatche-
wan. Rut manufacturers of all kinds will
be heartily welcomed ; they are wanted
in preference to any other class of people.
Industries now located include a flour
mill, a sash and door factory, an abat-

Hcrefords now browse in the old Buffalo Wallows.

toir, a brewery, several cement and brick
plants, mineral water factories, cigar fac-
tories, two machine shops, and a large
number of smaller enterprises.

The city council has reserved for man-
ufacturing and warehouse sites forty
blocks, or 1,600 lots, in the northeastern
portion of the city. There are in addition
ten blocks, or 400 lots, also reserved by
the city along the 0. L. L. & S. Railway,
the line recently acquired by the Cana-
dian Northern. The sites already allott-
ed amount to about one-quarter of the
total. A spur connects the southerly tier
of blocks in this section with the main
line of the C. P. R., and other spurs are
projected for the remaining blocks, to be
ready as the demand warrants. These
sites are available at very low prices and
a mnufacturing concern could secure a
free location upon giving certain guaran-
tees as to the amount of capital and labor
which would be employed.

The reopening of the Souris coal mines
at Estevan improves the situation of Re-
gina with regard to fuel. This coal can
be laid down in the city at about $4 per
ton in large lots, and it serves very well
for the generating of steam. It is likely,
however, that the city's electric light

plant will furnish power for a great num-
ber of the industries of the future. Ad-
ditional apparatus is now being installed
for the purpose of supplying electrical
energy for manufacturers, and it is anti-
cipated that this can be delivered at a
cost of not more than $60 per horse-
power per annum. At such a figure it
would be a most profitable motive power,
particularly for smaller enterprises.

The possibilities attending the use of
industrial alcohol are also attracting a
good deal of attention. This material
could be produced, it is estimated, at a
cost of not more than 20 cents per gallon
in Regina, and at that figure it would be
a great incentive to the development of
manufacturing enterprises. The action
of the Dominion Parliament with refer-
ence to the removal of the inland revenue
tax on this commodity is being awaited
with interest.

The field is undoubtedly an inviting
one, and manufacturers who desire to
extend their markets may profitably con-
sider the advisability of locating in Re-
gina. There is an excellent demand for
general merchandise, especially those
classes which are suited for the farming
population, and the volume of business

A detachment of a division, R. N. W. M. P. in front of barracks.

which radiates from Regina alone would
keep a number of large establishments
busily employed.

According to government statistics, the
yield of wheat in 1905 for the entire pro-,
vince of Saskatchewan was 26,107,286
bushels from 1,130,084 acres, an average
of 23.09 per acre. The yield of oats dur-
ing the same period was estimated at 19,-
213,055 bushels from 449,936 acres, an
average of 42.70 per acre. Barley was
figured at 893,396 bushels from 32,946
acres.

Assuredly there are good times await-
ing the energetic immigrant who re-
solves to pitch his tent in this fertile
country. Climate and soil are alike fac-
tors in his favor, and daring indeed
would be the man who would venture to
place a limit upon the possibilities of for-
tune awaiting him in the great North-
west.

And over all lies the shadow of the
law which guarantees protection to lite
and property. Not dead letter law, but a
little band of redcoated riders whose val-
or and integrity have made their names

famous and the Northwest a region to
be shunned as a plague spot by evil doers.

One would naturally expect to find in
a wide, rough realm like this the hand
of the strong man and desperado pre-
vailing over the weaker brother. Also
you would not be surprised to find Judge
Lynch dispensing justice after the fash-
ion of his Californian prototype in the
days of '49. Yet such is not the case.

The Canadian mounted police are the
enterprising gentlemen who have made
the name of the law a thing to be feared
and obeyed in this portion of the domin-
ion. Their history is inextricably bound
up with that of the territory they control ;
it has been so since these determined
roughriders first came to the Northwest
with authority to establish and enforce
the laws of Great Britain in this hitherto
wild and savage region. They went at
their work jyith a vim and earnestness
which brooked no obstacles.

Both bad red men and bad white men
soon awoke to an unpleasant realization
of the cold fact that these hard riding, in-
trepid minions of the law were anything

Typical farm scene near Rcgina.

but a joke. They meant business from
the beginning, and when the settlers be-
gan to flock over the border they found
the spirit of law and order brooding over
the land. Human life and property were
safe — safer, indeed, than in the majority
of Uncle Sam's big cities.

It is no exaggeration to say that the
Royal Northwest Mounted Police is one
of the finest, if not absolutely the finest,
semi-military body in the world. There
are no weaklings in the force. Little,
wiry, of undaunted courage and prodig-
ious endurance, these men are carefully
selected, natural born fighters, who hesi-
tate at nothing where their duty is con-
cerned.

The total number of the force at pres-
ent is set at 800 men. But the effective
patrolling force narrows down to about
600, when details for administration, ab-
sentees, and officers are taken into con-
sideration.

The following incident may serve as
an apt illustration of their general "ef-
fectiveness :"

A troop of United States cavalry, es-
corting a band of bad Indians across the
border, was met at the boundary line by
a solitary mounted policeman.

"Will you take charge of these In-
dians ?" asked the officer in command of
the American party.

"Yes, sir," responded the Canadian.

"Well, where are your men. This is
a pretty bad bunch of redskins."

"Oh, that's all right," returned the stal-
wart Canuck, in an unconcerned manner.
"One of the boys has gone to have his
horse shod, and the other is having a
drink. They'll be along in a few sec-
onds."

The American officer stared, but said
nothing. Presently the Canadian's com-
rades hove into sight, and the three po-
licemen marshaled the sullen red men in-
to column, and away they went, one Ca-
nadian taking the lead, another riding at
the side of the hostiles, while the third
loped easily along in the rear of the pro-
cession. It was all in the day's work,
and the men thought nothing of it.

IN LITERARY FIELDS

The Masters of English Fiction
Arranged By L. C. BREED

DEFOE.

RICHARDSON.

DANIEL DEFOE

BORN at Loudon, 1661-
Died 1731. A cele-
brated English novelist
and political writer. Lit-
tle is known of his early
life. In 1715 he wrote "An
Appeal to Honor and
Justice." From this time
until his death he wrote
industriously, "Robinson
Crusoe" appearing in
1719. His house at Stoke
Newington was pulled
down only about ten
years ago. His father
was a butcher in London.

Prose fiction, in
the hands of its
greatest masters,
has proved itself a
vehicle for the ex-
pression of the
most serious
thoughts, the no-
blest visions, the
profoundest phil-
osophic teachings
which genius can
Communicate to the world.

Daniel Defoe was the first English
writer to perceive the uses of this method
of imaginative expression. He is en-
titled to be regarded as a* great man ;
of limited but intense imagination, of in-
finite invention, of immense force, who
built better than he knew, for much that
he has written is immortal, and no de-
fects in his writings can be weighed for
a moment against -the claim that he must
justly be regarded as the Father of Eng-
lish Fiction.

SMOLLETT.

TOBIAS GE ORGE

SMOLLETT
RORN in Scotland, 1721.
*-» Died in Italy, 1771.
A British novelist, histor-
ical writer and miscella-
neous author. Among
his works are: "A Com-
plete History of Bng-
land,""The History and
Adventures of an Atom,"
"Travels" and transla-
tions of "Don Quixote."

The man who
wishes to learn
something of the
origin of English
fiction, should al-
so know that
Smollett was an-
other first-rate
force in the his-
tory of its devel-
opment, since this author must be ranked
with Fielding ; but it is method which
unites them, not equality of genius
Smollett is more of the humorist, but
only in the sense that his humor is broad-
ir, more farcical, and therefore more easi-
ly apprehended. The Expedition of Hum-
phrey Clinker, published in 1771, is gen-
erally regarded as his best novel,

The writer who
gave new impulse
and direction to
English fiction
was Samuel Rich-
ardson, who pub-
lished his "Pame-
la" in 1740, the so
styled novel of
sentiment. I n

spite of a cum-
brous method, of
a mind overwhelmed with copy-book
maxims, of an acquaintance with life that
never went beyond a narrow range of so-
ciety— this respectable, homely bookseller
was an artist, as any one of discrimina-
tion will readily discover by a careful
study of the latter half of "Clarissa Har-
lowe."

FIELDING.

SAMUEL RICHARD-
SON
BORN in England 1689.
Died at London. 1761.
An English novelist,
called 'the founder of the
English domestic novel."
When a boy he was ad-
dicted to letter writing
and in 1739 he composed a
volume of " Familiar Let-
ters," From this came
"Pamela or Virtue Re-
warded"—(174C). He then
wrote "Clarissa Har-
lowe, or the History of a
Young Lady."

HENRY FIELDING

BORN in England, 1707.
Died at Lisbon, 1754
Celebrated English play-
wright and novelist.
Among hi» works are:
"Lo v e in Several
Masques," "The Wed-
ding Day," "Tom Jones"
and "Amelia."

The rise of a
new school began
with the novels of
Henry Fielding
who was a man
wholly different
Jrom Richardson
at every point. He had moved in a large
world ; he knew life at firsthand ; he knew
how rough and bitter a thing life could
be, and he boldly used in fiction the mate-
rial he had won in many a hard expe-
rience. He was, in the full sense of the
term, a great artist. He told his stories
directly, not through a cumbrous mass of
letters, and he took pains to perfect his
plots. He was also a master of style. No
better model of pure, strong, nervous
English can be found than in Fielding's
pages. Nor is he destitute of sentiment ;
there are pages in "Amelia" which affect
us much more deeply than anything in
Richardson simply because the sentiment
is masculine and restrained,

FEMININE TOILETTES AND MILLINERY

HE general outline of gar-
ments, the general color
and quality of fabrics, are
matters decided for the
majority of womenkind
quite early in the season.
From the opening day of the season
there has been much discussion on the
subject of sleeves. By sleeves we mean
not only the actual sleeve itself, but the
shoulder line at which it is attached.
The early fall models from Paris showed
built out shoulders, but it was not un-
til after the 16th day of August when
many of the great coutouriers gave their
models a first airing that the shoulders
became pronouncedly long. Every week
has given wider vogue to this long
shoulder craze. It is not new to us, to be
sure, since we had it several seasons ago,
but it had been almost entirely dropped
out on this side when the French late
models arrived.

The long shoulder effect is obtained in
several ways, but chiefly by means of the
fichu or jumper waist. That is, the waist
portion is arranged with a very long
shoulder, which falls free over the sleeve.
This is an easy and satisfactory method
of gaining the effect since it requires no
practical fitting but rather skill in drap-
ing the fabric. In the short coats this
same kimona sleeve long-shoulder effect
is very noticeable. In the evening wraps
it is accomplished in the cape and loose
coat models.

One fancy which bids fair to great
popularity is the gold band armlet. This
is a most pleasing variation of the glove
garter that prevailed during the Summer.
It consists of a band of fancy gold trim-
ming anywhere from one to two inches
wide, fastened with clasps or a fine
buckle. Or a fine gold band shirred over
an elastic answering the same purpose.
Tn the latter case only a little fullness
appears, just sufficient to give the elastic
holding qualities. These gold armlets
are in keeping with the vogue of gold
at the present moment. We see gold dis-
creetly and charmingly used in millinery
and in touches on gowns of any and all

colors but it is not so noticeable on even-
ing wraps as it was in its last appearance
some time ago. The gold is invariably
dull, and in fancy weaves or combined
with spangles — none of the bright plain
gold appear.

The headdress vog'ie has been popular
in Paris now for over a season. This is
a soft arrangement of velvet or gold
bands combined with flowers or feathers.
It is almost like a small hat without a
crown, the high hairdressing filling in the
top. One charming headdress is of dull

Dressy Afternoon Costume.

The very newest expression of the pleated
skirt finished at the hottom with the wide
tucks open, the hem stitched and piped with
velvet, the same as that which trims the lit-
tle coat, is the feature of this afternoon
dressy tailor-made. The blouse of lace and
tlu> short circular bolero are built in one
and attached to the high velvet trimmed srir-
dle and supported with featherbones. The
eton elaborately trimmed with lace, braid
and brown velvet, which contrasts well with
the tan of the cloth. A touch of brown car-
acul is seen in the tiny collar and the cuffs
of the elbow sleeves.

72

FEMININE TOILETTES AND MILLINERY.

Elaborate Net Waist.

The white net of this separate waist is so
elaborately inset with embroidery insertions
and Val lace that the waist seems to be
made rather of this than of the net. Both
the sleeves and body of the waist are inset
with the lace, the narrow Val insertions
forming a yoke, in the center of which is
set a large Irish crochet medallion. The
sleeves are quite novel in that they have no
cuffs but are elbow length mutton legs, fin-
ished with a shaped frill of the embroidery
and Val. Collar is of the embroidery sup-
ported with tiny featherbone strips, and the
whole waist is worn over a white or color-
ed slip.

rose velvet with a huge finely wrought
gold buckle holding two short but very
full rose plumes, which are placed rather
high and fall over the hair. Flowers are
charmingly brought into these head-
dresses, very often combined with wide
gold bands that look as though woven
out of fine strands of metal. Not all of
the headdresses are charming, to be sure.
For the theatre there is the less formal
headdress of twisted wired velvet rib-
bons caught with knots of rosebuds, these
are very girlish and extremely becoming.
It is remarkable the amount of ermine
that is used this winter, both the genu-
ine article and clever imitations. In the
best models the whole garment does not
show the tail markings disposed at regu-

lar intervals as of old, but rather the
black tips are separated and used in some
decorative way as a trimming. One
very smart eton coat seen had the white
of the ermine used in the body portion
and sleeves and right across the back,
as though outlining the yoke, was a
series of black button forms made of the
tail tips. Those little tips were disposed
as a fringe at intervals on the slashed
front, and a touch of satin and gold in
the form of- a stole vest added a color
note to the whole.

The very short skirt is a feature of the
day costume of midwinter. A skirt clear-
ing the ground five inches is frequently
seen. The pleated skirt is almost uni-

Hat and Neck Ruff in Black and White.

Black and white is the color scheme of
both hat and neck ruff here shown. The
ruche is a black chiffon edged with a black
and white dotted and striped satin ribbon
about two inches in width and finished with
long black satin ties. The hat is a dressy
model in black velvet with a high tarn o'
shanter crown of black pailetted net over
the white malinette foundation. The black
bandeau is trimmed with black velvet rib-
bon and three white ostrich plumes nodding
gracefully forward from the back of the
right side.

FEMININE TOILETTES AND MILLINERY.

73

The Evening Head Dress.

Evening hats, especially those of large
size, are dividing favor this winter season
with novel head dressing such as that of the
picture. A wired band of white velvet about
an inch in width encircles the knot of hair
which is dressed high on the head and at
the left side, three tiny moss roses half
blown are posed, with a bow of velvet rib-
bon in white set over the ear on the right
side.

versal for street wear. Wide, regular
pleats seem to be preferred to any sort of
fancy variation therefrom. Short loose
coats or half fitting' coats with shawl
collars, very simply made, are accepted as
correct form for morning- and strictly
street afternoon wear. Indeed, simplicity
is the kevnote of the winter styles. Tt
gives a distinctive high bred air to cloth-

iii** in general. All of the little fussi-
ness of past seasons is disappearing and a
quiet and refined charm taking its place.

FASHION XOTES.

Velvet is the fashionable fabric of
the season. Velvets striped in two
tones are favorites and a decided novelty
for evening wear shows the velvet in the
form of tinted blossoms.

Pekin de mousseline de soie, an exqui-
site material for evening gowns, is* in
high favor with the great dressmakers.
These sheer fabrics are often sumptu-
ouslv embroidered.

The princess gown retains its prestige.
The trimmings and various tuckings or-
nament the shoulders and bottom of the
skirt, the idea being to maintain the
pleasing curve of waist and hip.
*

The lines of dinner and evening gowns
are simple, with skirts quite full about
the feet. Soft silks and chiffons are
enriched with hand embroidery, and per-
haps a yoke of cloth of gold or silver.

Fashionable suitings for street wear
are the new shadow plaids, broadcloth,
serge, henrietta. A new model show ;
a plaited skirt of nine gores clearing
length. All seams are concealed by the
plaits stitched to yoke dentil. Clustered
plaits give a pleasing effect in a seven
gored walking skirt.

The Christian spirit seeks not revenge upon an enemy for a wrong done, but
recovery of the enemy from wrong- doing-.

The best preparation for right living is reparation fur wrong doing.

Vr.Mrtlej/sPMlosop^A.

€J Gratitude transfigures the life, while greed or grudge disfigures it.

^ Our joys must be an integrating rather than a disintegrating force, a discipline
rather than a dissipation.

Cfl Feelings cherished as a luxury usually lead to penury.

CJ The essence of Christianity in the heart produces the ethics of Christianity in
the life.

CJ One's worth shows more in his walk than in his talk.

CJ Truth is for expansion throughout the life, while error is for expulsion out of
the life.

C| The man who tries to make life's journey in a balloon will have to walk back.

CJ To deny the rights of others is to deaden one's sense of right.

CJ Untroubled serenity is reached only through unflinching fidelity.

CJ The dilemma of the waspish tongue is execration or extraction.

Cfl Delight in duty softens all of its severities.

CJ It is kindlier to keep people soothed than sore.

CJ Cold conceit is satanic selfishness.

CJ Whatever expresses love expands it and produces wealth rather than waste.

CJ Peace in the soul is protection from sin and power for service.

CJ Reasoned agnosticism is unreasonable skepticism.

CJ The Bible not only reflects life, but corrects it as well.

CJ True education draws out the worthy and drives out the worthless.

Cfl The might of meekness constitutes the majority of manhood.

Cfl It is better to have strength for trial than to be spared from trial.

CJ Success in one's vocation requires an eye to see and an energy to seize the pass-
ing opportunity.

CJ Duty is both just and generous, never overlooking and never overloading us.

CJ The purpose of discussion should be to learn a truth rather than to earn a tri-
umph.

Cfl Our valor depends on our faith and victory on our faithfulness.

CJ We are safe when riches serve us, but ruined when they rule us

€J Penitence over past failures is better than pride over past successes.

CJ Careless waste always brings cruel want.

CJ No one can lose God who longs for goodness.

CJ Faith is deepened rather than disturbed by reason.

CJ Sabbath privileges are to be used rather than abused, to be enjoyed rather
than destroyed.

To W. E. B

MY LOVE FOR YOU.

Introduction.

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Jaow Cost Homes

Editor. "

BNERALLY speaking, I
prefer a hall in the front
part of the house. It
seems to be the right place
to go upstairs, and I like
to put a little extra work
and expense on an open stairway.
Some builders like to close in the
stairway as much as possible, but I
think most of us like an open stair,
nicely designed, made of good wood and
showing good workmanship. There
must be some woodwork inside of a
house besides the floors and door and
window casings. We can buy loose
furniture and place it to advantage, but
nothing looks so well as cabinet work
designed and built to fit the house. A
well designed stair with treads and ris-
ers properly proportioned and a railing to
match, suported by a handsome newel
post and neat spindles made from good
wood that finishes up nicely, certainly is
a work of art. Stair work is not so
expensive since especial machinery has
been pressed into service for its manu-
facture. Hand work has been elimin-
ated in stair building to such an ex-
tent that an elaborate picee of work may

be supplied at a very reasonable cost.

The entrance to the house with a hall-
way like this is pleasant. It is a sort
of key to the character of the house. A
coat closet is built under the stair at the
farther end of the hall. This is neater
and much more convenient than to hang
clothing in the open hall. Then the
extra coats that hang there sometimes
for , week without being worn are kept
free from dust. In new buildings in
cities these hall closets are becoming
very common. We often see large mir-
rors in the hallway but not a peg to hang
a coat or hat on. The halls are too nice
to be decorated in this manner and the
idea is right. Clothing looks well only
when it is in its proper place. I don't
expect everyone who has an expensive
hat-rack or hall-tree to send it at once
to the junk dealer or wood pile, but I
do hope to see less of this kind of furni-
ture manufactured in the future.

The size of this house is twenty-nine
feet wide by forty-four feet six inches
long without measuring the porch. The
architect estimates that it may be built
for $2,000 to $2,300, according to the lo-
cality in which it is built.

>U 2W, 363, fZ9, 76F, T72, 96f, £25, p3, fcT^i

s

TATIST ICAL
SAM got the
adjective handle

in

belonged to

to his name
way : He

the little coterie of
men who called them-
selves "The Organiza-
tion Committee of the
Fifth Precinct of the
Twenty-sixth Ward,"
and who were called
by their political oppo-
nent the "kitchen cabi-
net"— their weekly
meetings being held in
the kitchens of the
members.

The fall campaign
was over and
some of the members thought the wise
thing would be to adjourn till spring;
but Sam was differently inclined. You
see, he'd been the official figurer of the
kitchen cabinet and had made a mar-
velously good forecast on the fall vote.
Wherefore he was a man of some con-
sequence in the cabinet, and of more
consequence to himself. When the
motion to adjourn, subject to call of the
president (which would come with the
first political whisper of spring) was
made, Sam spoke against it as follows :

"Well, men, I for one have kind of
got into the habit of enjoying these meet-
ings. Why not continue them ? We
don't have to deal with politics; we can
discuss other subjects to a good advan-
tage. Defeat the motion, and I will
explain."

The motion was defeated, and this is
the explanation he gave and which caus-
ed him thereafter to be called Statistical
Sam :

"I've been doing considerable figuring
of late and I've kind o' got in the habit
of it. Now that there is no more poli-
tics to figure, I find my attention being
drawn into other lines of speculative

and statistical thought. Even the home-
ly kitchen articles become of interest
when viewed from certain standpoints,
The common skillet, statistically viewed,
may be made to present a wonderful
combination of comparisons.

"For purpose of establishing a meas-
uring unit, or standard skillet, let us
say the skillet is one foot in diameter,
weighs one pound, and, including han-
dle length, is eighteen inches long. It
is a mild estimate to say that each fami-
ly in the United States possesses a big
skillet and a little skillet. There are
more than 15,000,000 families in this
country, and more than 30,000,000 skil-
lets. Without worrying you by asking
you to go through all the figures, I will
tell you the following facts :

"If all the skillets of the United States
were placed side by side they would
reach more than 6,000 miles ; if placed
handlewise, 9,000 miles.

"If all the skillets were made into one
big skillet, Uncle Sam would have to be
over six miles high to handle it and cook
in it. It would hold one big pancake
with an area of more than a square mile
or 75,000,000 ordinary size cakes like you
get at a restaurant.

UnclB Reufien and HuQt Sarafi Ann Visit tne
Trent Tneatre

t "mm

"Tin

Uncle Reuben — "It's durned lucky we came early, Sarah Ann. These front
seats is always th' first ones that's picked out."

THE ACME MAGAZINE

Goes Into Every Home in Trenton.

It is kept on the library or drawing-room table for at least a month, and is read by every
member of the household. Nearly every one who looks through a magazine reads the ad-
vertisements; because magazine advertising is made as attractive as skillful exgraving and
fine printing can make it, and it is one of the magazine's principal and most interesting
features.

Your advertisement in the Acme is simply a safe and sure investment, on which you are
guaranteed handsome returns. Try it and be convinced.

THE ACME PUBLISHING COMPANY,

510 Masonic Temple, TRENTON, N. J.

The ?3[eme 7Vla9azine

Vol. 1.

February, 1907.

No. 4.

Entered as second-class matter November 16, 1900, at the Post Office at Trenton, N. J.,
under the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879.

AN ANCIENT LINEAGE.

The Interesting Pedigree of a Distinguished Family.

By E. P. WILLIAMS.

i

IHSSSSIN THE town of Malp°s> near

the river Dee, one hundred
and sixty-eight miles north-
west of London, stands a
church edifice that in mon-
astic ages was the chapel of a religious
house of monks of the Cluniac order. In
this church are preserved many ancient
memorials of the Stockton family.

One of these stones records the fact
that Rt. Hon. Sir John Stockton, Knight,
was the Lord Mayor of London, in 1470
and 1471. He was the son of Richard
Stockton, who was knighted on the field
by King Edward IV. In 1470 he was
elected to the high honor of masters of
the Mercers' Company, the oldest and
most exclusive in London.

Sir Edward Stockton was vicar of the
Church of Cookham, in Berkshire, and
was a leader in one of the early expedi-
tions to the Holy Land.

The memorial of John Stockton, of
Kiddington, who died in 1700, says he
was an "Esquire," while that of Owen
Stockton, who died as early as 1610, tells
posterity that he was a "gentlemen."

One of the progenitors of the present
Jersey family was John Stockton, who
died in 1610. The stone over his bones

is inscribed in Latin. The last paragraph
is significant: —

Eugenio patri posuit. Eugenius filius,
obilit 2 die Decembris, Anno Domini 1610.
(The son, well-born, has erected this to
the father, well-born (who), died Decem-
ber 2, A. D. 1610.)

The Stockton ancestors were anciently
lords of the manor of Stockton, which
they held under barony of Malpos.
Stockton Manor is in the town of Mal-
pos, in the County of Cheshire, Eng-
land. It was originally a forest, enclosed
by the original Stocktons, in feudal times;
hence the name, consisting of two Saxon
words — Stoc, a place, and Tun, an en-
closure.

It is known that David de Stockton in-
herited the Manor of Stockton from his
father in 1250. The locative "de" indicated
their nobility and prominence. King Hen-
ry the Third had honored him in many
ways, just as King Edward the Third
honored William de Stockton, his son.

In the parish of Malpos beside the
Stockton Manor is the Stockton Bank and
the Stockton Hall. The parish church is
full of memorials and relics. The family
was scattered over many countries in sub-
sequent years.

AN ANCIENT LINEAGE.

The beginning of the family in America
was Richard, who was a son of John
Stockton of the Parish of Malpos. Why he
came to America is not made clear. He did
not come poor. In recording the fact that
he settled at Flushing, Long Island, in
1660, a family writer says he "possessed
an opulent fortune." Just how much no
records disclose, but men with ordinary
competency in those days had great
advantages, for real money went a good
way in real estate and personal goods.

This Richard tarried on Long Island
for a short time and
went to Burlington.
He was attracted there
because he had turned
Quaker and the So-
ciety of Friends in
that locality was num-
erous and influential.

Richard, a son of
the Quaker, did not
go to Burlington, but
started out on his own
hook and located at
Princeton where he
acquired six thousand
acres, which is now
the site of the Prince-
ton University and the
town proper. It was
not Princeton then,
but Stony Brook. The John P.

broad acres and the
beautiful landscape had attracted the
Oldens, the Clarks. Joseph Worth and
John Horner. They were thrifty citizens.
Richard Stockton left his father's planta-
tion on Long Island and settled in Prince-
ton because he liked the neighborhood
and the neighbors. He acquired his tract
from a grant made by William Penn.

His estate was divided among his
sons. Their names were Richard, Sam-
uel, Robert, John and Thomas. They
all married and reared families in Prince-
ton.

John Stockton, his son, became the

Presiding Judge of the Common Pleas
of Somerset, a position of great honor in
those days. He was a public-spirited
man, giving liberally to the newly-estab-
lished College of New Jersey and the
struggling Presbyterian Church.

John Stockton was of wide reputation.
Every prominent man who visited the
section in those days esteemed it a privi-
lege to put his feet under "Justice"
Stockton's mahogany. Even the Indians
came to him for advice, and he was one
of the early great men His greatest
honor in history is the
fact that he was the
father of "Richard the
Signer," the great-
est of all the Stock-
tons that have been
from the days of Rich-
ard, the second, down
the illustrious line.

"Richard the Sign-
er" was born with a
golden spoon already
for him. His father
was rich, as rich men
counted in those days,
and Richard fell heir
to no hard knocks.
He was tutored by
Rev. Samuel Finley,
president of Princeton
Stockton. College, and gradu-

ated with the first class
of the College of New Jersey in 1748.

In 1766 he went to England, and the
nobility covered him with honors. He
was associated with Benjamin Franklin.
It was while presenting financial proposi-
tions to the English Government that
Richard Stockton secured the services of
Rev. Dr. John Witherspoon, to be the
president of Princeton College when Dr.
Finley died.

Richard was full of Yankee grit and
was a rare democrat, considering how
acceptable he was to the crown. While
abroad he attended the Oueen's birth-

E. P. WILLIAMS.

5

night ball, but that did not turn his head

a bit, for he wrote home:

"Here I saw all your Duchesses of Ancas-
ter, Hamilton, etc., so famous for their
beauty. But here, I have done with
this subject, for I had rather ramble
with you along the rivulet of Morven
or Red Hill and see the rural sport
than again be at a birthnight ball."
Judging by this mood he was getting

ready for the change of role that came so

speedily.

In 1773 he became a member of Coun-
cil, and in 1774 he

was appointed Judge of

the Supreme Court,

and then a member

of the Continental

Congress and signed

the Declaration of In-
dependence.

He next became a

candidate for Gover-
nor of New Jersey,

under the new State

Constitution, but was

defeated by William

Livingston. The day

after his defeat he was

elected Chief Justice

by the Legislature

which refused him the

day before, but he

would not accept it.
Richard Stockton

continued as a Judge

Court, and while

Bayard Stockton.

of the Somerset
riding to court one
day chapped his lips by the cold which
brought on a cancerous growth which
caused his death. His wife was Anne
Boudinot, sister of Elias Boudinot. It
was for her that he gave the name of
"Morven" to the old homestead which is
still standing. The name was taken from
one of the scenes in Ossian's poems, of
which she was fond of reading.

"Richard the Signer," gave to the
world, "Richard the Duke," and also
Lucius Horatio Stockton. He left three

daughters, who married men of distinc-
tion. One of them, Julia, became the
wife of Dr. Benjamin Rush, of Philadel-
phia.

The first of the line who took to dip-
lomacy was Samuel William Stockton,
brother of "Richard the Signer." He
graduated from Nassau Hall in 1767. In
1774 he went to Europe as secretary of
the American representatives to the Court
of Austria and Russia. While abroad
he negotiated a treaty with Holland. On
his return he was elected secretary of the
Convention of New
Jersey to ratify the
Constitution of the
United States in 1787.
In 1794 he was Secre-
tary of State of New
Jersey. He died from
being thrown from his
carriage in Trenton.

The eldest son of
"Richard the Signer"
was called "Richard
the Duke," because
of his courtly bearing.
He was a lawyer and
was a United States
Senator from New
Jersey from 1796 to
1799, and a member
of the House of Rep-
resentatives from 1813
to 1815. When the
Marquis Lafayette visited Princeton in
1824 Mr. Stockton was chosen by Coun-
cil to address him. He acquired the
degree of Doctor of Laws from two
colleges. He left a large number of chil-
dren.

Lucius H. Stockton, the second son
of "Richard the Signer," settled in
Trenton and acquired a large law prac-
tice. Thomas Jefferson appointed him
Secretary of War, but he never held
the position because for local reasons his
appointment was not confirmed.

Richard Stockton, the eldest son of

AN ANCIENT LINEAGE.

"Richard the Duke," turned his face
westward and settled in Mississippi. He
was in the State but a short time when he
was made a Justice of the Supreme Court
by the Legislature, and subsequently be-
came the Attorney-General of that State.
He was killed in a duel with John P.
Parsons, of New Orleans.

After his death it was found that he
had not fired his pistol, and a letter
found in his pocket stated that he in-
tended to do just as he had done. His
untimely death was the subject of a
long poem by his sis-
ter, Mrs. Mary Har-
rison.

The most disting-
uished son of "Richard
the Duke," was
"fighting Bob,"
known in history as
Colonel Robert Field
Stockton. He became
a student in Princeton
College when but 13
years old. He left his
studies a few years
later and went into the
navy. After spending
ten years in foreign
countries he returned,
and became interested
in the American colon-
ization cause. The United States equip-
ped a vessel for him and he estab-
lished a colony on the western coast of
Africa, which subsequently became the
Republic of Liberia.

In 1840 he was selected by President
Tyler to be the Secretary of the Navy,
but he declined the honor. The Navy
Department, in 1842, gave him permission
to construct a steamship of war, which
attracted much attention in European
ports. She was armed with twelve forty-
two pounders, and two guns of ten tons
each, which were called the "Peace-
maker" and the "Oregon." One of

Richard Stockton.

trip and killed a number of prominent
men. Commodore Stockton was the
means of establishing a civil government
over California before the Mexican War
closed.

In 1849 Commodore Stockton resigned
his command in the United States Navy,
and was elected to the United States
Senate in 1851. To him is due the con-
struction of the Delaware and Raritan
Canal and the development of the Cam-
den and Amboy Railroad. Notwith-
standing his exciting life in the navy and
the fact that he was
interested in several
duels, he lived to a
ripe old age and died
in 1866.

Philip Augustus
Stockton, the third
son of the first Lucius
Witham Stockton,
was also a naval hero.
He served on the old
"Constitution" when
it was the flagship of
Commodore Reed.
After eleven years' ser-
vice he resigned with
the title of lieutenant.
His son Howard Stock-
ton, became the Con-
sul General for Saxony.
Major Robert Stockton was a quarter-
master in the Revolutionary army. Rev.
William R. Stockton, who was rector of
St. Peter's Church, Phoenixville, Pa.,
was a chaplain during the War of the
Rebellion.

Commodore Stockton left three sons —
Richard Stockton, John Potter Stockton
and General Robert Field Stockton. The
latter was State Comptroller prior to the
time of Major Edward J. Anderson. He
was Adjutant-General of the State prior to
the term of General William S. Stryker.
He received the thanks of the Legislature
for the way he had discharged the duties

these guns exploded during an exhibition oi these two offices.

E. P. WILLIAMS.

John P. Stockton was made the United
States Minister to Rome by President Bu-
chanan in 1857. He was the youngest man
ever appointed a minister. He was elected
to the United States Senate in 1867,
was re-elected in 1869 and served a full
term.

His name was several times mentioned
in connection with the Democratic nomi-
nation for President. He was appointed
Attorney-General of New Jersey in 1877,
serving twenty years in that capacity, and
was retired because of the change in the
political complexion of the State adminis-
tration.

Bayard Stockton, son of Richard, and
nephew of Attorney-General John P.
Stockton, is one of the best known law-
yers of New Jersey. He was Prosecutor
of Mercer County for a number of years,
and now makes his home at "Morven,"
the ancient homestead of the Stocktons
in Princeton.

Richard Stockton, whose home is at
No. 200 West State street, Trenton, is
the son of Attorney-General John P.
Stockton. He was the youngest United
States Consul ever appointed, having
served at Rotterdam and subsequently in
charge of affairs at the Hague.

He was born in 1859, and while an
infant was taken to Italy, where his father
was serving in the capacity of United
States Minister. He was subsequently
placed in the famous Young's school at
Washington, D. C , where he was a com-
panion of Jesse Grant, son of the late
President U. S. Grant. His education
was completed at Columbia University.
President Cleveland appointed him Consul
to Rotterdam in 1885. He filled this

post for two years and was then promoted
to the diplomatic service and placed in
charge of the legation at the Hague.
Since his retirement from official life he
has been interested in a number of busi-
ness enterprises, and is at present the rep-
resentative of a New York Stock Exchange
firm. Mr. Stockton is the holder of a
medal, awarded to him by special act of
Congress, for saving the life of Emory
Clapp, from drowning, at Long Branch
in 1877. He has also been decorated
with the American Cross of Honor, which
is equivalent to the Victoria Cross of
England, the cross of the Legion of
Honor, of France, and the Iron Cross of
Germany.

One of his two sons, Richard Stockton,
Jr , is a lieutenant and quartermaster in the
Third Regiment, National Guard of New
Jersey. He was born in Rotterdam, Hol-
land, January 19th, 1888. J. Potter Stock-
ton is the youngest son, and was born
in Princeton, N. J., September 29th, 1891.

No story of the Stocktons would be com-
plete without mention of old ''Morven,"
which is one of the celebrated houses of
America. It has been the home of the
Stocktons for nearly two hundred years,
and stands to-day in the most picturesque
part of the university town. The man-
sion is a two-story brick structure, and
consists of a main building, with a portico
over the entrance, and two wings, and
contains in all fifteen rooms. The sur-
rounding grounds possess great beauty.

Many whose names are famous in
national history have been entertained
within its time-honored walls, and the old
college town is proud of this distinguished
family seat.

s t o CKTON

THE OFFICE BOY'S DISPENSATION.

A Story of Equal Justice and the Unhappy Fruits Thereof.

i

r HAPPENED
the evening of
the San Francis-
co earthquake. De-
P^i tails of the disaster
were few and unsatis-
factory. The great
as well as the lowly
were anxiously await-
ing news. His Ex-
cellency, the Governor
of the State of New
Jersey, was as hungry for information as
the humblest citizen.

The telephone bell in the office of the
True American had been ringing all the
evening and Trentonians with friends and
interests in the stricken city were making
anxious inquiries. Every now and then
the telegraph instruments would tick off
a bulletin, but the wires were working
badly, as they always do when most
needed.

All was hustle and bustle. The re-
porters were chasing here and there about
the news room with bits of gossip about
Trentonians at the Golden Gate and re-
ceiving fresh assignments from this editor
or from that one. An "extra" was about
ready for the press The office boy was
"on the job," and knowing what dire
calamities might follow any dereliction of
duty on his part, was curtly dismissing
visitors with all the hauteur he believed
appropriate to his position and the occa-
sion. At the height of this situation two
gentlemen and a boy entered.

"Is Mr. R in?" queried one of the

trio, a medium-sized man with a sandy
moustache, piercing grey eyes and wear-
ing a great beaver overcoat.

"Yes, he's in, but he's too busy to see
any one," was the response of the ju-
venile guardian of the sanctum.

There was a thick silence while the me-
dium-sized man squared himself for the
next assault.

"Please may I look over your dis-
patches from San Francisco?" he ven-
tured at length.

"It's against the rules, see!" thundered
the boy. "If yer want ter know all we've
got, git an extry — out in a minnit. I'm
too busy to tell youse anything."

The medium-sized man with the mous-
tache, the eyes and the overcoat, was
subdued. He muttered a few words to
his companions and seemed to wait for
the youthful autocrat to relent. One of
the editors in an adjoining room, attracted
by the commotion, at this juncture ap-
peared. A glance sufficed to show him
who the man in the overcoat was and at
once there were hasty and profuse apolo-
gies, with information in abundance. The
callers were Governor Stokes, Supreme
Court Clerk William Riker and Mr.
Riker's son.

But the discovery of whom his victims
were, was of no consequence to the office
boy. His spirit was unbroken and his
superior's breach of discipline was more
than he could stand for. He resigned
from the True American force the next day.

One winter day, Love stood at the forge —

Red were the flames as they leaped in
air —
I asked of him "Hast thou turned smith

And what art thou doing there?"
Love laughed aloud as he answered me

"I am fashioning human hearts —
No two are alike, as thou can'st see

For I follow when Fancy starts.
I clang, clang, clang,

And I bang, bang, bang,
I do as I will, and I oft do ill

When I'm fashioning human hearts."

Then said I to Love, "Thou'rt a cruel elf,

Thou do'st a most grievous wrong,
For thou seekest only to please thyself,

Tho' master of hammer and tong.
What would'st thou do, if thou fram'st
two hearts

Alike, from thy forge's fire,
Hearts n'er to change, through the long,
long years,

And burning with like desire?"
Love said, "As I clang,

As I bang, bang, bang;
For such a mishap, they'd be cast in the
scrap,

As waste from my forge's fire."

E. FURMAN HOOPER,

President of the Democratic League. Notice his proud mien and buoyant step, and
see how pleased the "party" looks to be led by so popular a personage. Both
seem to have had inside information — something to the effect that there may be Dem-
ocratic victories — State and municipal — next fall. It may or may not be true, but
who would be so unkind as to begrudge hope to the local party and its leader.

Anyhow, while the League was selecting a president it could not have done better
than it did in choosing so popular and able a man as Mr. Hooper.

ELIJAH MASON'S SIN.

A Romance of the Battle of Trenton.

BY HARRY A. DONNELLY.

Chapter III.

iffiSKX2222ISHEN Liutenantvon Guit-

w

®@W©WW®€

ermann heard Margaret
Mason call him as he
was about to dip the oars
into the water, he turned
about and saw her stand-
ing on the river bank.

She had followed to say a last farewell
and then decided that she would go to
Trenton with him, and later in the day
friends would ferry her home again.

Foolish young hearts beat in those days
just as they beat now. Love was power-
ful, and as a result Hans von Guitermann
and Margaret Mason were married that
night in Trenton, and a few minutes
later were on their way to Philadel-
phia.

The couple prospered and a son was
born to them after they had been a year
in their new home. Then adversity
came. Guitermann's old wound gave him
great trouble and after battling in vain to
overcome his illness he became despond-
ent and took to the cup. Lower and
lower he sank — the purse became empty
and the table almost bare. Then he
aroused himself and tried again, but with-
out success. There was nothing at which
he could earn a living for Margaret and
her boy. Then the wife said to him:

"We will go home, Hans. The old
folks will forgive us and you will soon get
better. Then we can return again."

Von Guitermann did not like the prop-
osition, but decided to accept it. They
came to Trenton and at dusk were ferried
over the river. Down the road to the old
white farm house they walked, the child

in his father's arms. The homestead had
nearly been reached when Von Guiter-
mann said:

"Go on Margaret, with the child, and
I will wait a minute. It might anger
your father to see me. When he has
talked with you I will come in."

The wife assented, and as she entered
the gate Von Guitermann vaulled over
the fence of the side yard. As Margaret
rapped on the door her husband crawled
close to the kitchen window. Inside he
saw the old folks sitting; saw the mother
arise to answer the knock; saw her kiss
and caress her daughter; saw the old man
frown; heard him disown her and say:

"Go again and stay, until Hans, the
Hessian, is dead!"

No sooner were these words spoken
than a shot was heard. Elijah Mason's
face became as pallid as it was the day he
watched his sons burying the Hessian sol-
diers beneath the snow on the river road.
Margaret ran into the yard, and there,
beneath the window, found Hans, with
uplifted arms, dying.

"It is best, Margaret," he said, "best
— for — you — and — baby." A minute
more and he was dead in his wife's arms.
His little son stood near.

"Sh-h," the baby whispered, as he
raised his finger; papa's sleepy — bye."
* * *

Elijah Mason lived but a few months
longer, but before he died he untied the
strings about the letter given to him by
the dying soldier that Christmas morning
after the conflict on the river road. Its
contents were as follows:

12

THE WASHINGTON STATUE.

"Carl Roder:

"My dear Friend — Tell Hans for me
that I have forgiven him, and with his
mother anxiously await his return. Sev-
eral of the investments he induced me to
go into and which I believed worthless
have turned out to be very profitable, and
I have decided to transfer them to him.
As a present from home, you will tell him
Christmas night that he is now a very rich

man and to hurry back from over the sea.
"Your sincere friend,

"Ludwig von Guitermann.
"Cassel, September 12th, 1776."

* -;- *

Margaret moved to Trenton, and in the
picturesque graveyard at Ewingville may
yet be seen a crumbled tombstone upon
which the name of Hans von Guitermann
can no longer be deciphered.

THE END.

THE WASHINGTON STATUE,

CADWALADER PARK.

Upon a low green hill he stands,
Majestic in his stately form,

And still, against the silent sky ;
Within his eyes the rapture of
Fulfillment-foreordained, and on

His brow the sacrament of power.

Does he still see the blackness of
That winter's night of long ago,

The darkness of the rolling tide ;
And hear the muffled oar, the grinding
Of the ice against the bow,

The deadly undertow ?

Trenton, November 5, 190G.

Or does he see beyond, where gleaming
Waters beat their cadence out

From shore to shore, a shining vision,
In the sunset light, of days
That are to be, of God's futurity —

Of God's futurity?

* * * *
A solemn quiet reigns upon
The tide, for day is o'er ; the twilight

Creeps in mist across the low
Green hills, and veils his face, who waits
In peace beyond the river shore,

Who waits the dawn, and — light, once
more !

Helene Wade.

AN IDEAL COMMANDER.

-loSffillHE officers and men who have
M %% served under General Quincy

§€• I M O'M. Gillmore, since his
i$oeww*i ">nnection with the New
9aaftaaaa$ Jersey National Guard,
unite in calling him the
' 'ideal commander. ' ' His resignation from
command of the Sec-
ond Brigade is unfort-
unate for the entire
military organization
of the State.

General Gillmore is
one of the most widely
known military men
in the United States.
He comes from a fam-
ily of soldiers, his
father having been the
late General Quincy
A. Gillmore, U. S. A.
He was born at West
Point in 1851 and
lived there until 1869,
when he entered West
Point Academy as a
cadet. He was grad-
uated in 1873 and was
assigned to duty in
the West. For seven
years he participated
in the Indian cam-
paigns in Indian Terri-
tory, Texas and New
Mexico.

In 1880 he was
ordered back to West
Point as instructor in
cavalry tactics. He re-
mained in this capacity
for five and a half years and was then return-
ed to the Eighth United States Cavalry,
which was then stationed in South Dakota.
When he returned to the Eighth Cavalry
he was made regimental quartermaster and
served four years in that capacity.

General Quincy O'M. Gillmore.

From the West he came East and entered
the Electrical and Torpedo School of the
United States War Department at Willis
Point, New York. While there he was
made a captain. Because of disability
received in the line of duty he was retired
in 1897, just before the Spanish-Ameri-
can war.

In that year he came
to New Jersey and
Governor Foster M .
Voorhees sought his
aid in organizing State
troops for the war with
Spain, acting upon the
advice of the late Ad-
jutant General William
S. Stryker. General
Stryker served during
the Civil War on the
staff of General
Ouincy A. Gillmore,
the distinguished offi-
cer in command of the
Union forces during
the siege of Charleston ,
but it was not wholly
memories of the fath-
er that prompted Gen-
eral Stryker to suggest
the name of the son
of his former com-
mander, when the Gov-
ernor was casting
about for the best
ability obtainable in
order to have New
Jersey represented in
the volunteer army in
a manner up to the
standard set in former wars; he knew the
son was the man for the position.

General Gillmore enlisted in the volun-
teer army and upon recommendation of
Governor Voorhees was commissioned
Lieut -Col. of the Fourth N J. Reg't.

14

AN IDEAL COMMANDER.

Although he did not succeed to the
colonelcy of the regiment until after it
left this State, his knowledge of military
affairs had much to do with the organiza-
tion and instruction of the regiment, which
later on, under his command, ranked
with the best of the nation in point of
efficiency and strength.

When the war was ended the United
States government selected General Gill-
more as instructor of the New Jersey
National Guard. Then he was prevailed
upon to accept the colonelcy of the Sec-
ond Regiment and brought that part of
the State troops out of chaos into equal
standing with older regiments which in
the past had been highly favored in the
matter of State attention.

General Gillmore's experiences as an
officer of the National Guard have not
been without thorns He was branded
a "carpet bagger" by a clique whose
military ambitions seemed in danger when
his name was placed on the roster. The
term means a man traveling from one
State to another in an effort to find official
position, and it in no way applied to Gill-
more. He was born at the West Point
Military Academy, graduated from it and
served on the frontier for many years
with distinguished ability. He was a
child of the nation — a professional soldier
with broken health but possessing all the
information of warfare which careful edu-
cation and hard experience had given him.

Officers wearing more than two bars on
their shoulder straps, have called him a
"pooh-bah," because of the many posi-
tions he has held in the State, but it is
safe to say that these positions have cost
him more than their emoluments. As a

matter of fact, the only place he has ever
had under the State government, which
paid him a salary was that of instructor
of tactics at the Rahway Reformatory.
He did much toward perfecting a system
of discipline in that institution and during
the brief period of his incumbency re-
ceived but $600 a year for his services.

As a commander General Gillmore has
been loved by the enlisted men and ad-
mired and respected by most of his
brother officers. He placed the soldiers
under him on their honor, and had occa-
sion arisen to go into battle they would glad-
ly and confidently have followed his lead.

A non-commissioned officer of the
Fourth New Jersey Volunteers, who hap-
pened to take a "buff" bath along with
his commander, one early morning at
Sea Girt, afterward told his comrades he
had "been in swimming with 'Gilly'; he
can dive like a porpoise, and he's got
freckles on his back as big as his heart" —
and the boys knew that meant marks of
mammoth size.

A strong point in General Gillmore's
favor as a National Guard officer was that
he was not a politician and was ever ready
to advance a man on merit, without
asking how he voted, or allowing men
with a "pull" to sway him.

He is simply a soldier — a man who can
sit before his tent and, with a toothpick
and a little hard sand to scratch on, teach
a young officer more about movements of
troops than he could learn in a lifetime
poring over books of tactics. He has
served not only New Jersey well, but has
been instrumental in adding to the regular
army, from this State, officers who stand
high, and who were tutored by him.

ACMEAN GREETING.

15

There were a "bunch" of 'em stand- vertised on the face of the time-piece,

ing at the Windsor cigar counter. "Phil" Whereupon, to win a bet that verses

came in "from back," and started to tell could not be written on the theme inside

how it was that a clock hanging before of fifteen minutes, the following was sub-

the dispensing desk stopped, when the mitted by one of the local verse trust,

proprietor refused to buy any more of who made the record time of 8^ minutes,

the particular variety of excitement ad- and won the blue ribbon :

THE CLOCK AND THE -BRAND."

Within a tavern in this town

There was a clock that advertised
A certain " brand " — to buy the same
The customers were all advised
By " tick,

. tick,

tick."

One day the man that ran the place,

Finding that his sales had dropped,
Of that same " brand," bought no more goods,
And then the clock, it simply stopped
Its " ick,

tick,

tick."

What difference did it make at last

To customers who came each day ?
They simply took the old clock's place,
And when it came the time to pay
'Twas " tick,

tick,

tick."

— F. B. h.

ACMEAN GREETING

Jhere's a riddle in these verses;

Help the answer to obtain.

fv'ry one who fails to guess it merely has to guess again

fls comes a maiden, modest, seemly,
Qjurie a stranger to the town;
Iflen beheld and women wondered —
£nvy e'en forgot to frown

Many thought the comely comer
A far visitant must be:
Qive her greeting," outspake Trenton,
flnd, giving, give it cordially."
Zeus, from lofty pose unbending
[n the days long since that were,
||e'er shed smiles on jovial welcome
Exceeding that we handed her.

S. T.

DREAMLAND LOVERS

By SMITH D. FRY

JHEY have called me a pret-
ty girl all my life, moth-
er,'' said Louise Mayo.
"Now the friendly call me
a handsome woman, and
you, mother, are chaffing
me with being an old maid, while my
brothers are seemingly more and more
assured that I am insane or becoming
so.''

Pretty girl she must have been, hand-
some she surely was. Her two and
twenty years scarcely warranted the title
of old maid ; and her flashing black eyes
gave the instant lie to the charge of
insanity, whether sincerely or frivolous-
ly made. Louise Mayo belonged by
birth and double ancestry to the proud
Lee and Randolph families of Virginia,
and she was the type of woman not only
to be proud of that splendid Virginia lin-
eage, but to make all scions of both fam-
ilies proud of her kinship.

"I have always told you, mother, that
I have never seen the face of my dream-
land love, although I have always heard
his dreamland voice. I know also that
he belongs to the people who invaded
and humiliated our State and Confed-
eracy ; because I have seen him, as a
little boy, in the arms of his grandfather
who wore the blue uniform of a Yankee
Major General. I have seen him grow-
ing to manhood, and I have heard him
singing before Northern audiences, the
Yankee Major General being ever pres-
ent until within the last few years. His
voice has always been clear to me, his
face only a shadow, outlined from
childhood to manhood.

"I know all of his sectional ballads,
all of his operatic selections, and I know
that nowhere on earth is there or has
there ever been a voice that could sing
as he sings it 'When other lips and oth-
er hearts their tales of love shall tell.' "
While Louise Mayo was thus talking
to her mother about her dreamland lov-

er, in the old colonial mansion on the
James River, near Sabot island. Grant
Henderson of Philadelphia, a strong,
stalwart young collegian of the Har-
vard brand, was talking in similar strain
to his father and mother in the old co-
lonial homestead where George Wash-
ington made his headquarters at the
time "The Crisis" was being promulgat-
ed, and when the patriots at Valley
Forge were going through that "time
which tried men's souls."'

"It is true, father, that this is only a
dreamland voice that has haunted me,
but it is a reality to me, however it may
be viewed by you. I know well, my
dear mother, what your desires have
been from childhood, and I will admit
that my inclinations have sometimes been
that way. But whenever I have been
led by your influence in that direction,
my dreams have been disturbed and en-
livened, and made akin to Paradise, by
hearing the voice of the wonderful girl
of the South whose figure I have so of-
ten seen, whose gowning is as familiar
to me as your own, but whose face I am
unable to discern in that wonderful
dreamland whence she comes to me."

Within a week or two Grant Hender-
son, for the business firm of which his
father was the head, was obliged to make
a business trip through various South-
ern cities as far as New Orleans. In
Richmond, after transacting business
with a number of firms, he was obliged
to remain over night in order to make
railroad connections for Raleigh and
the Carolinas. The clerk at the Jeffer-
son Hotel told him that there was to be
a charitv concert near by, given by
home talent, and that some wonderful
performances could be seen and some
marvelous voices be heard. The young
man, however, promptly determined that
he would remain in his room writing
business letters, and he did so until near-
ly ten o'clock, when from the night air

i8

DREAMLAND LOVERS

came a thrilling voice rendering- an aria
from "Lucia Di Lammermoor." Drop-
ping his pen and rising suddenly as
though impelled by an electric shock, he
went to the window and leaned there-
from, drinking in every note and say-
ing to himself again and again, "that is
my dreamland voice."

He heard the applause and double en-
core without leaving the window. Then
he noted the orchestra sending forth the
introductory notes of "Robin Adair,"
and immediately thereafter came the
same voice singing that which he had
always admired as the best song that
came from the lips of his dreamland
love.

Entranced, enthralled, immovable, he
there remained until the last notes died
away. Then leaving the room hastily
without hat or coat, and without waiting
for the elevator, he ran down stairs to
find the possessor of that voice. Be-
fore he could reach the front door of
the Jefferson Hotel the clerk grasped
him by the arm and handed him a tele-
gram which, upon opening, he found
contained a notice from his father that
his mother was seriously ill.

Impulsive he was and dutiful also.
Within half an hour a train from the
South was due, and giving up his
dreamland voice, Grant Henderson has-
tily made preparation to take that train
which bore him away to his mother. It
was well for him and for his peace of.
mind thereafter that he did so, for he
arrived in Philadelphia in time to see
her and be recognized, and hear from
her lips the singular and exceptional
commendation : "Better son never liv-
ed."

Three months elapsed and Grant
Henderson was again on a business tour
at Winchester, Virginia. There he met
a business man who had been a college
chum at Cambridge, and by him was in-
vited to visit the Cedar Creek battle-
field where his grandfather had rendered
distinguished services. Leaving the
battle-field they went to Clarke County,
Virginia ; and, according to the Virgin-
ia custom, drove over the mountains and
through the valleys in a buggy. ( While

passing through Millwood they noted on
the hillside to the right, a gathering of
country folks, and heard many sounds
of music and laughter coming from the
Beverly Randolph homestead, known
through all that vicinity as "The Moor-
ings."

Henderson requested his friend to
halt and he did so. Then from the night
air came the singular voice that he had
so often heard in his dreams singing
"Robin Adair." He begged his friend
to remain that he might go and find the
possessor of that voice, but a jeering
laugh was the only rejoinder because of
the lateness of the hour and the distance
to Berryville. They did stop long
enough, however, for Henderson to send
back through the night air his greetings.
Standing in the buggy at the foot of the
hill he sang with marvelous strength
and cultured timbre of tone, "When
other lips and other hearts their tales
of love shall tell ;" and then they drove
on.

There was consternation at "The
Moorings" where Louise Mayo was
visiting, when she announced and de-
clared that that was the dreamland voice
about which her friends had heard so
much. They all rushed to the brow of
the hill, only to see the buggy disappear-
ing and Louise Mayo said: "that voice
is no revelation to me, I have heard it
often before ; but will T ever see his
face?"

While boating and fishing on the
Shenandoah River during that visit, the
boat was capsized, and although no lives
were lost, from fright and excitement,
Louise Mayo immediately lost her voice.
Physicians and specialists said that no
cure could be found, and that the voice
was lost forever, unless some great
fright or sudden surprise might bring it
back again.

When Nature speaks to man and wo-
man with that marvelous voice which
leads them unerringly together, she
makes no mistakes. It was inevitable
that the possessors of those dreamland
voices should meet. They did so.

At Asbury Park during the second
summer after that charity concert in

She Found Herself Willingly in the Arms of Grant Henderson.

Richmond, Louise Mayo was visiting
friends there as she had been visiting
friends in Millwood, and they happened
to he friends of Grant Henderson's too.
One rainy night when all were driven

in doors, Grant Henderson, being tem-
porarily in Asbury Park, called upon his
friends. During the course of the
evening he was invited and urged to
sing, and did so, his second song being:

20 THE SEA LIMITS.

"When other lips and other hearts their the piano with the purpose of attempt-
tales of love shall tell." ing to sing. She struck a few intro-

"Did you not sing that song in Vir- ductory chords and began with timidity

ginia last year?'' inquired Louise Mayo at first. But, with increasing confi-

when he had finished. dence, the voice came back, and zvhen

"I did so," he replied. "How did you she had concluded and turned to arise

know or hear anything about it?" she found herself willingly in the arms

"I was there with that party on the of Grant Henderson, who held her, and

hill and saw you standing in the buggy turning to the astonished company, said:

and heard the song." "You must excuse me — I mean you

"Then," said Grant Henderson with must excuse us — because I have search-
much sentiment, "I must hear the voice ed for this voice ever since this young
that sang "Robin Adair." woman was born, and I believe she has

Everyone present knew of Louise been looking for me."

Mayo's misfortune and knew that she Her unresisting silence gave confir-

was the one that had sung "Robin mation to his words. And, as all true

Adair." They were surprised to see stories should end, "They lived happily

her arise and with quiet dignity go to ever afterwards."

THE SEA LIMITS

Consider the sea's listless chime ;
Time's self it is, made audible, —
The murmur of the earth's own shell.

Secret continuance sublime

Is the sea's end ; our sight may pass

No furlong further- — Since time was,

This sound hath told the lapse of time.

No quiet, which is death's, — it hath
The mournfulness of ancient life,
Enduring always at dull strife,

As the worlds heart of rest and wrath,
Its painful pulse is in the sands.

Last utterly, the whole sky stands,

Gray and not known, along its path.

Listen alone beside the sea,

Listen alone among the woods ;
Those voices of' twin solitudes
Shall have one sound alike to thee :

Hark when the murmurs of thronged
men

Surge and sink back and surge again, —
Still the one voice of wave and tree —
Gather a shell from the strewn beach,

And listen at its lips ; they sigh,

The same desire and mystery,
The echo of the whole sea's speech,

An all mankind is thus at heart

Not anything, but what thou art ;
And Earth, Sea, Man and all in each.

— Rossctti.

IMPRESSIONS OF GEO WASHINGTON'

[Among the comparatively few accounts of impressions of George Washington on ttxe part
of those who had the opportunity of clost contact with him which have come down to us,
that given by Benjamin Henry Lalrobe. the architect of the capital at Washington, who paid
a visit to Mt. Vernon, is of great interest, and as every American is eager to learn as much
as passible concerning the personality of the "Father of His Country," we give below the
famous architect's notes of his visit. — Editor's Note.J

|AVING alighted at Mount
Vernon, I sent in my let-
ter of introduction, and
walked into the portico
next to the river. In
about ten minutes the
President came to me. He was attired
in a plain blue coat, his hair dressed and
powdered. There was a reserve, but
no hauteur in his manner. He shook
me by the hand, said he was glad to see
a friend of his nephew's, drew a chair,
and desired me to sit down. Having
inquired after the family I had left, the
conversation turned upon Bath, to which
they were going. He said he had known
the place when there was scarce a house
upon it fit to step in, that the accommo-
dations were, he believed, very good at
present. He thought the best thing a
family, regularly and constantly visit-
ing Bath, could do would be to build a
house for their separate accommodation,
the expense of which might be two hun-
dred pounds. He has himself a house
there which he supposes must be going
to ruin. Independent of his public sit-
uation, the increased dissipation and
frequency of visitors would be an ob-
jection to his visiting it again, unless the
health of himself or family should ren-
der it necessary. At first that was the
motive, he said, that induced people to
encounter the badness of the roads and
the inconvenience of the lodgings, but
at present few. he believed, in compari-
son of the whole number, had health in
view. Even those whose object it was,
were interrupted in their quiet by the
dissipation of the rest. This, he ob-
served, must naturally be the case in ev-
ery large collection of men whose minds
were not occupied by pressing business

•Prom "The Journal of Latrobe.
Appleton & Co.

N. Y., D.

or personal interest. In these and
many more observations of the same
kind there was no moroseness nor any-
thing that appeared as if the rapidly in-
creasing immorality of the citizens par-
ticularly impressed him at the time he
made. them. They seemed the well-ex-
pressed remarks of a man who has seen
and knows the world.

The conversation then turned upon
the rivers of Virginia. He gave me a
very minute account of all their direc-
tions, their natural advantages, and
what he conceived might be done for
their improvement by art. He then in-
quired whether I had seen the Dismal
Swamp, and seemed particularly desir-
ous of being informed upon the subject
of the canal going forward there. He
gave me a detailed account of the old
Dismal Swamp Company and of their op-
erations, of the injury they had received
by the effects of the war, and still great-
er, which their inattention to their own
concerns had done them. After many
attempts on his part to procure a meet-
ing of directors, the number of which
the law provided should be six in order
to do business, all of which proved fruit-
less, he gave up all further hopes of
anything effectual being done for their
interests, and sold out his shares in the
proprietary at a price very inadequate
to their real value. Since then his at-
tention had been so much drawn to pub-
lic affairs that he had scarcely made any
inquiry into the proceedings either of
the Swamp or of the Canal Company. I
was much flattered by his attention to
my observations, and his taking the
pains either to object to my deductions
where he thought them ill-founded, or
to confirm them by very strong opin-
ions of his own, made while he was in
the habit of visiting the Swamp.

View of Monticello.

This conversation lasted above one
lionr. and, as he had at first told me
that he was endeavoring to finish some
letters to go by the post upon a variety
of business, "which, notwithstanding his
distance from the seat of Government,
still pressed upon him in his retire-
ment," I got up to take my leave ; but he
desired me, in a manner very like Dr.
Johnson's, to "keep my chair,'' and then
continued to talk to me about the great
works going forward in England, and
my own object in this country. I found
him well acquainted with my mother's
family in Pennsylvania. After much
conversation upon the coal mines on
James River, I told him of the silver
mine at Rocketts. He laughed most
heartily upon the very mention of the
thing. I explained to him the nature of
the expectations formed of its produc-
tiveness, and satisfied him of the proba-
bility that ore did exist there in consid-
erable quantity. He made several min-
ute inquiries concerning it, and then said
that "it would give him real uneasiness

«hould any silver or gold mines be dis-
covered that would tempt considerable
capital into the prosecution of that ob-
ject, and that he heartily wished for his
country that it might contain no mines
but such as the plow could reach, ex-
cepting only coal and iron."

After conversing with me more than
two hours, he got up and said that "we
should meet again at dinner." I then
prowled about the lawn and took some
views. Upon my return to the house, I
found Mrs. Washington and her grand-
daughter, Miss Custis, in the hall. I
introduced myself to Mrs. Washington
as a friend of her nephew, and, she im-
mediately entered into conversation up-
on the prospect from the lawn, and pres-
ently gave me an account of her family
in a good-humored free manner that was
extremely pleasant and flattering. She
retains strong remains of considerable
•beaut)-, seems to enjoy very good health,
and to have a good humor. She has
no affectation of superiority in the slight-
est degree, but acts completelv in the

TMPRFSSTOKS OF GtO. WASHINGTON.

n

character of the mistress of the house of
a respectable and opulent country gen-
tleman. Her granddaughter. Miss
Eleanor Custis, the only one of four who
is unmarried, has more perfection of
form, of expression, of color, of softness,
and of firmness of mind than I have ever
seen before or conceived consistent with
mortality. She is everything that the
chisel of Phidias aimed at but could not
reach, and the soul beaming through her
countenance and glowing in her smile is
as superior to her face as mind is to
matter.

Young La Fayette with his tutor carne
down some time before dinner. He is
a young man about seventeen, of a mild,
pleasant countenance, favorably impres-
sing one at first sight. His figure is
rather awkward. His manners are
easy, and he has very little of the usual
French air about him. He talked much,
especially with Miss Custis, and seemed
to possess wit and fluency. He spoke
English tolerably well, much better, in-
deed, than his tutor, who has had the
same time and opportunities of improve-
ment.

Dinner was served about half after
three. It had been postponed about a
half hour in hopes of Mr. Lear's arrival
from Alexandria. The President came
into the portico about half an hour before
three, and talked freely upon common
topics with the family. At dinner he
placed me at the left hand of Mrs.
Washington ; Miss Custis sat at her
right, and himself next to her about the
middle of the table. There was verv
little conversation at dinner. A few
jokes passed between the President and
young La Fayette, whom he treats more
as his child than as a guest. I felt a
little embarrassed at the silent, reserved
air that prevailed. As I drink no wine,
and the President drank onlv three
glasses, the party soon returned to the
portico. Mr. Lear, Mr. Dandridge, and
Mr. Lear's three boys soon after arrived
and helped out the conversation. The
President retired in about three-quar-
ters of an hour.

As much as T wished to stay, I thought
it a point of delicacy to take up as little

of the time of the President as possible,
and 1 therefore requested Mrs. Wash-
ington's permission to order my horses.
She expressed a slight wish that I would
stay, but I did not think it sufficiently
strong in etiquette to detain me, and or-
dered my horses to the door. I waited
a few minutes till the President returned.
He asked me whether I had any very
pressing business to prevent my length-
ening my visit. I told him I had not,
but that as I considered it an intrusion
upon his more important engagements, I
thought I could reach Colchester that
evening by daylight. "Sir," said he,
"you see I take my own way. If you
can be content to take yours at my
house, I shall be glad to see you here
longer."

Coffee was brought about six o'clock.
When it was removed the President, ad-
dressing himself to me, inquired after
the state of the crops about Richmond.
I told him all I had heard. A long con-
versation upon farming ensued, during
which it grew dark, and he then pro-
posed going into the hall. He made me
sit down bv him and continued the con-
versation for above an hour. During
that time he gave me a very minute ac-
count of the Hessian fly and its progress
from Long Island, where it first ap-
peared, through New York, Rhode Is-
land. Connecticut, Delaware, part of
Pennsylvania and Maryland. It has not
yet appeared in Virginia, but is daily
dreaded. The cultivation of Indian corn
next came up. He dwelt upon the ad-
vantages attending this most useful crop,
and then said that the manner in which
the land was exhausted by it, the constant
attendance it required during the whole
year, and the superior value of the pro-
duce of land in other crops would in-
duce him to leave off entirely the culti-
vation of it, provided he could depend
upon any market for a supply elsewhere.
As food for the negroes, it was his opin-
ion that it was infinitely preferable to
wheat bread in point of nourishment.
He had made the experiment upon his
own land and had found that though the
negroes, while the novelty lasted, seemed
to prefer wheat bread as being the food

The Room Where Washington Died.

of their masters, soon grew tired of it.
He conceived that should the negroes he
fed upon wheat or rye hread, they would,
in order to be fit for the same labor, be
obliged to have a considerable addition
to their allowance of meat. But not-
withstanding all this, he thought the bal-
ance of advantage to be against the In-
dian corn.

He then entered into the different mer-
its of a variety of plows which he had
tried, and gave the preference to the
heavy Rotheram plow from a full exper-
ience on its merits. The Berkshire iron
plow he held next in estimation. He
had found it impossible to get the iron
work of his Rotheram plow replaced in
a proper manner, otherwise he should
never have discontinued its use. I prom-
ised to send him one of Mr. Richardson's
plows of Tuckahoe, which he accepted
with pleasure.

Mrs. Washington and Miss Custis had
retired early, and the President left the
company about eight o'clock. We soon

after retired to bed. There was no hint
of supper.

I rose with the sun and walked in the
grounds near the house. The Presi-
dent came to the company in the sitting
room about one-half hour past seven,
where all the latest newspapers were laid
out. He talked with Mr. Lear about
the progress of the work at the great
falls, and in the City of Washington.
Breakfast was served up in the usual
Virginia style. Tea, coffee, and cold
broiled meat. It was very soon over,
and for an hour afterwards he stood up-
on the steps of the west door talking to
the company, who were collected round
him. The subject was chiefly the estab-
lishment of the University at the federal
city. He mentioned the offer he had
made of giving to it all the interests he
had in the city on condition that it should
go on in a given time, and complained
that, though magnificent offers had
been made by many speculators for the
same purpose, there seemed to be no in-
clination to carry them into reality. He

IMPRESSIONS OF GEO. WASHINGTON

25

spoke as if he felt a little hurt upon the
subject. About ten o'clock he made a
motion to retire, and I requested a ser-
vant to bring my horses to the door. He
then returned, and as soon as my ser-
vant came up with the horses, he went
to him and asked him if he had break-
fasted. He then shook me by the hand,
desired me to call if I came again into
the neighborhood, and wished me a good
morning.

Washington has something uncom-
monly majestic and commanding in his
walk, his address, his figure, and his
countenance. His face is characterized,
however, more by intense and powerful
thought than by quick and fiery concep-
tion. There is a mildness about its ex-
pression, and an air of reserve in his
manner lowers its tone still more. He
is sixty-four, but appears some years
younger, and has sufficient apparent vig-
or to last many years yet. He was fre-
quently entirely silent for many minutes,

during which time an awkwardness
seemed to prevail in everyone present.
His answers were often short and some-
times approached to moroseness. He
did not at any time speak with very re-
markable fluency ; perhaps the extreme
correctness of his language, which al-
most seemed studied, prevented that ef-
fect. He appeared to enjoy a humor-
ous observation, and made several him-
self. He laughed heartily several times
in a very good-humored manner. On
the morning of my departure he treated
me as if I had lived for years in his
house, with ease and attention, but in
general I thought there was a slight air
of moroseness about him as if something
had vexed him.

For Washington, had Horace lived at
the present age, he would have written
his celebrated ode : it is impossible to
have ever read it and not to recollect in
the presence of this great man the virum
justiim propositiquc tcnaccm, etc.

A YOUNG FIR WOOD

These little firs to-day are things
To clasp into a giant's cap,
( )r fans to suit his lady's lap.

From many winters, many springs,

Shall cherish them in strength and ssp
Till they be marked upon the map,

A wood for the wind's wandering's.

All seed is in the sower's hands ;

And what at first was trained to spread

Its shelter for some single head, —
Yea, even such fellowship of wands, —

May hide the sunset, and the shade

Of its great multitude be laid
Upon the earth and elder sands.

— Rossetti.

MIDWINTER ROSE PAGEANT

By FRANK G. MARTIN

'HE charming little city of
Pasadena, nestling within
the somber shadows of
the Sierra Madre moun-
tains of Southern Cali-
fornia, boasts the unique
festival of the United States — or the
world, for that matter. The Mardi
Gras festivities and spring festivals of
the cities of the South have their own
peculiar charm from which no detraction
is made in stating that in one respect
Pasadena's annual Tournament of Roses
excels them all.

To put upon the streets a long proces-
sion each New Year's day of fantastic
floats, gorgeously decorated in millions
of natural flowers grown in the open
ground in midwinter, is the unique
achievement of Pasadena. Other cities
have elaborately decked processions, but
nowhere is such a pageant arrayed in ah
the glory of virgin flowers fresh from
the ground.

The 1906 Tournament at Pasadena far
excelled all former ones in magnificence.

Sixty thousand people thronged the
streets and byways to look with surprise
and admiration upon this beauteous vis-
ion, meet to grace the triumphal pro-
gress of the queen of the fairies. From
all over the land tourists gather to wit-
ness this animated epic of the flower
kingdom. Thoroughly cosmopolitan is
the multitude. The man in jeans and
the Mexican peon jostle elbows with the
gem-decked millionaire and his richly
attired lady — and this is a city of million-
aires during the winter, as scores make
it their home for four months in the year
to escape the rigors of the Eastern win-
ter. Here is a leveling of all caste. The
man of millions cannot shout any more
lustily than the barefoot urchin in enthu-
siastic homage to the queen of flowers,
to whom all make obeisance on this festal
day.

The schools of Pasadena are the most
enthusiastic devotees of the Tournament
from year to year; For ten days prior
to New Year's books are cast aside, the
schools are dismissed, and from princi-

Chrysaiitlienium beds in a city park Los Angeles, November,

An automobile embowered in flowers, Pasadena Tournament of Roses, 1906.

pals and parents down to the tiniest tots
there is one grand army of decoration.
The several sections of the city are sys-
tematically canvassed in quest of flowers
and plants, and each school keeps its
float, and its plans carefully sequestered,
for there is keen rivalry among the
schools for the attractive prizes offered.
Not until the day he fore the Tournament
is the decorating completed, and not un-
til the float appears on the street does the
public, or even the rival schools, know
what is coming from the respective par-
ticipants.

For weeks the general preparations
have been in progress. A permanent
Tournament of Roses Association is
maintained, incorporated and capitalized,
and leading men of affairs of the com-
munity spend weeks of their time assist-
ing to advertise, solicit entries and pro-
mote the Tournament.

The queen of the Tournament is se-
lected from the High School by popular
vote, and each school in the city selects
two maids of honor to attend the queen.
These selections are made far in advance
of the Tournament to give ample time
to prepare the costumes, upon which
hundreds of dollars are spent.

The auspicious dav dawns — the sky
guiltless of a cloud, the atmosphere

faultlessly free from frigidity. The sun,
catching the spirit of the occasion, in-
carnadines the eastern vestibule of heav-
en ere showing his beaming countenance
over the mountain walls. The birds
fling melody from a thousand trees and
shrubs. Ten thousand modest blooms
dance gaily with the waltzing ocean
breeze. Filmy pepper trees, ruddy with
rubied rosaries of brilliant berries, flaunt
coquettishly their lacy vestments. The
solemn palms, sedate as Egyptian
priests, throw aside their dignit- for the
nonce and give a Chautauqua fan salute
as advances morning day toward the
climacteric hour. All nature is in festive
mood. The very air is rose-tinted, rose-
perfumed : the very welkin rings with
acclaim to the queen of the hour — -the
rose.

But half his wonted course to the ze-
nith has the sun traversed when a trum-
pet sounds, loud, clear and resonant, and
the expectant mass cf humanity — a
streamer a mile with long lateral
lines clamoring to reach a vant-
age point — instantly is hushed and
stands tiptoe. The procession is a-
raove. The spectacle is unfolding. Spir-
ited steeds, richly caparisoned, bearing
dashing gallants in gay uniforms, herald
the approach of the queen of the tourna-

28

MIDWINTER ROSE PAGEANT.

ment in her carriage of state, and her
splendid retinue. Out from the form-
ing ground into the main thoroughfare
sweeps the train to the stirring "Mar-
sellaise." A rippling cheer breaks forth
and rolls on and on as the pageant
moves, increasing in volume until it
surges and dies away in the distance — a
tremendous breaker of enthusiasm fol-
lowed by another and another, sweep-
ing over this pent-up sea of beauty-
thrilled humanity.

From every animated window float
the Tournament colors — bannerets of red
and white ; from every building, prodi-
gally profuse, depend multi-hued decora-
tions of flowers and shrubs and palms.
To the quick music of bands the trium-
phal progress is made. Now comes a
lull, then hursts a mighty storm-Chiffa-
relli has sounded the keynote that swells
.every heart to overflowing and drives ev-
ery throat to shouting. The warm blood
of the Southland is surging through this
crowd, and it leavens the whole lump.
The stolid man from Maine is venting

his lungs as vociferously as the impul-
sive Tennessee "rebel" lets forth his
famous "yell." "Dixie" is in the air,
and the multitude sways to it as to an
hypnotic spell.

Well in the lead is the prize-win-
ning entry of the Tournament in its
class — the High School's six-in-hand. A
Chinese temple is symbolized, and in its
make-up oriental splendor is fittingly
represented. The vehicle is embowered
in a profusion of pink and white gera-
niums, marguerites, carnations and calla
lilies being used in artistic effects. The
beautiful creation is drawn by six white
horses gaudily caparisoned in pink har-
ness, decorated in ropes of carnations re-
sembling nets and with large bows of
ribbon and strands of smilax prettily in-
terwoven in the running gear. The large
temple banners are masses of pink and
white roses.

One of the most striking displays is
that of the Altadena school — a majestic
hattleship, complete in every detail, and
made throughout with flowers. The

Pasadena High School Float.

Six-in-hand of Hotel Green, Pasadena Tournament of Roses, New Year's Day, igo6.

body of the vessel is decorated in white
marguerites, while hanging- ivy, trailing
the ground, gives the water effect. To
the front of the vessel is represented
dashing spray in the form of massed calla
lilies. Around the gun-shields and on
the decks are masses of roses, five thou-
sand separate cuttings being used. Sev-
enty-five thousand individual blooms are
employed in decorating this one float
alone.

On, on, rolls the rhythmic mass of col-
or, running the gamut from the passion-
ate crimson to the subdued lily white.
After the schools come a bewildering ar-
ray of novelties in six-in-hands, four-ih-
hands, two-horse and one-horse vehicles,
the fire department, tandem ponies, two-

pony vehicles, one-pony vehicles, saddle
horses, automobiles, burros, bicycles, and
what-nots,, bringing up the rear of a pro-
cession more than a mile in length.

And over it all is spread the glamour
of romance, the soft and witching: beautv
of an artist's dream. The blooms which
array the spectacle in the royal purple
and the cloth of gold of nature put to
shame all hollow mockeries in the way
of artificial flowers. From the incep-
tion of the Pasadena Tournament of Ros-
es all but natural blooms for decorations
have been excluded. To this fact is
due the unique and lasting charm of this
mammoth bouquet plucked annually as
a superb setting for the crown of the
New Year.

THE FLYING PERFECT

We sleep, we dream, we work and strive,

And through the busy days

We glimpse a Vision half unreal.

The mysterious fugitive Ideal,

Elusive, beckoning, in devious ways,

It leads us on.

THE CUP THAT CHEERS

By D. PRESTON PARR

jNCE upon a time I stood
by the shore of the Indian
Ocean, where a lofty
smoke-stack lifted its ug-
ly, black head against the
verdure of a terraced hill.
Strewn around me were wheels and
cogs and shafts, all shackled under the
propelling power of a mighty engine, but
yielding their strength and cunning to
the corrosive blight of rust and decay.
The terraces were drying floors, the
chimney was a force-draft device to a
giant furnace, the wheels and pulleys and
shafts and cogs, the engines and mills
and fans were but the bones of an in-
dustrial plant, that disaster had given
over to disuse and ruin. There was a
three-story building of imported brick,
laid in imported cement. There were
gardens down to the water's marge, and
on either hand storage sheds stretched
away to a garden by a river, where ole-
anders and bananas grew, in profusion.
There were huts for the housing of la-
borers, and a compound, and a hideous
bungalow. The whole represented a
cost of fifty thousand pounds sterling,
something like a quarter of a million
dollars, American money, all sunk in the
sand as a monument to that changeless
God of Change, that presides over the
history of human endeavor.

Strangest of all, this ruin had been
wrought, this superb plant had been rel-
egated to the scrap-pile, because chicory
was cheaper than coffee, because British
taste tripping away from coffee pure,
had crossed over to the chicory blend and
European taste, true to the democracy
of "chacun a son gout" had gone tumb-
ling after. Practically all over the civ-
ilized world, except America, chicory
with a trifle of coffee in it, is thought to
be better than coffee straight. Repeat-
edly I have been told, by mine host of
the British Empire, that what he call:;
"blended coffee" is best, and coffee with-
out chicorv in it is not wanted. No one

now, he says, likes the pure stuff, or
will drink it if served. It is idle for me
to argue that blended coffee is a mixture
of kinds, as Eastern and Western, or as
Maracaibo and Java, and that what he
purveys is only adulterated coffee. He
blandly conveys to me that I am but a
Yankee, and as such am not yet up to
the best standards of European taste.
But, our burly British friends are not
strong on coffee, or by any means the
best makers of the beverage, for the
Austrians beat them in Europe, as do
also the Spaniards, and over on this side
we can give them odds and then win out
ahead.

Italians are good coffee makers, and
so are the Dutch, but "coffeeville is in
the States," as my friend Carver, puts it,
and any old mammy of Virginia, or Lou-
isiana, with nothing but a skillet and a
boiler, can turn out coffee to beat the
"King's Coffee-maker," and she will
wear a red bandana kerchief and smoke
a Sally Michael pipe, while ministering
the mysteries.

In the light of those luminous lies that
used to pass current with us, when tra-
dition was history, the shadows of mys-
tery hang about the origin of coffee
drinking. Some authorities say the
Arab invented the beverage, and some
vote for the Abyssinian. Mocha itself
is as much a mystery in its origin, and
as a mystery it will pass into the land of
lore, where fairies weave the chapters
that science dare not criticise.

Roval Edward's servitor, who distills
his table beverages, is said to be an
Arab. I suppose he is, but the children
of the desert have made coffee for me,
too, and I still sing the supremacy of
Mammy, and vastly prefer her brew. The
Arabian method is simple. It consists
chiefly in an assortment of pots, to fit
the brew, as one-cup pot, a two-cup pot.
and so on. I think I never saw an Arab
pot big enough for six cups, and T never
saw an Arab drink or offer a second

1). PRESTON PARR.

V

cup, that was not freshly made, after the
first cup had been consumed.

When the water has come to a boil,
Mahomet puts in the requisite sugar and
stirs, till the cut-loaf lumps are dissolved.
Then he stirs in the finely pulverized cof-
fee till thoroughly mixed with the water.
Three times he lets it come to a boil, and
three times he deftly whips it from the
fire and taps the bottom against the near-
est solid object, till the froth goes down.
The fourth time the froth rises the mys-
tery is complete, and the pot should be
immediately removed from the fire. Most
commonly a two-cup pot is used, and the
coffee is .divided into the cups waiting,
so some of the froth shall float on each.
If more coffee is wanted, the process is
gone through again. On no account
will an Arab drink coffee that has been
standing awhile, even if kept hot. It
must always be freshly brewed to be per-
fect.

The black coffee of the French is made
on the drip principle, as indeed nearly all
European coffee is, only a few now fol-
lowing the Arabian method. Some of
these old fashioned makers are French,
but for the most part they are Austrian,
Italian, Spanish or Portuguese. The
Dutch make good coffee, and the Boers
in Africa follow after their forefathers
in this respect. The Russians make
capital coffee on their warships, and I
fancy they do in their homes. But Un-
cle Sam's sons and daughters drink most
of all the coffee grown in all the world,
and it is only fair to say that the domes-
tic art of making coffee has been most
highly developed and most widely pop-
ularized in this country.

When it comes to tea and the art of
drawing it, we must all yield the palm to
the empire upon whose boundaries the
sun never sets. With her over-power-
ing interests in Indian and the Straits
settlements, with her intimate trade as-
sociations and political alliances in Chi-
na and Japan. Britain has more channels
that drain tea into the markets of the
world than all other nations combined.
»When it comes to brewing the bever-
age she is easily chief cook, and when
you foot up the tea-drinkers it will be

found the Imperial columns carry -the
largest figures. Russia poses as an op-
ponent of Britain in tea-drawing, drink-
ing and transporting. Germany bids
for a prominent' place among purveyors
and purchasers of tea, but as a worthy
competitor no European nation makes a
show against the Kingdom of the Isles
and the Empire of the Indies. Almost
anywhere that British civilization impos-
es its influence you will find the demo-
cratic tea-room a very popular institu-
tion.

Everywhere "English is spoke" you
can get a fairly good cup of tea. for
British domestics know how to draw it,
after a century or so of application to
the art. One never gets a good cup of
tea in this country, outside a few hotels
that cater to the English custom and the
homes of the fairly well-to-do. As for
colored folks and the tea cup, the con-
nection is not strong or lasting. My
Mammy says that "kerosene lamps and
sewin' machines ain't for niggers no-
way," and I think I would add the tea-
pot. You can't be slovenly and care-
less and make a passable cup of tea, ex-
cept by accident, and the process is too
precise and exacting to suit the "loose
and keerless" methods of the "new is-
sue darkey." That horrible poison,
"stewed tea," is still imbibed in this coun-
try, and the pot that is never washed
clean of the "old drawings" is not un-
known. In England I think the same
conditions exist, but to a less extent in
Ireland, and still less in Scotland. In
fact, the land o' cakes is the land of the
teapot too, and one always expects a
good cup of tea in Scotland.

As for iced tea, that is really an Amer-
ican dish, though the Russ sets up inde-
pendently for a drinker of cold tea, but
he ruins it with lemon and sugar, and
though claiming to be the final deposito-
ry of all tea perfection, and the altar
whereon the samover forever sets, I am
not disposed to yield my preference to a
taste which can tolerate tallow candles
for a light lunch, and wash them down
with a liberal portion of vodki. In fact,
T am quite prepared for the inevitable
succession of Japan as arbiter of the

32

THE CUP THAT CHEERS.

teapot, and I transfer my willing alle-
giance without compulsion.

Speaking of cold tea and Russian
taste once, to a Boer lady in Africa, she
told me her husband was a Russian,
and her mother-in-law always made cold
tea by the steeping process rather than
the drawing. When breakfast was over
the old lady used the lukewarm water
left in the urn to draw the tea for the
afternoon meal. The result was per-
fect cold tea. She was much surprised
when I told her that was exactly the way
my mother made cold tea, and I was
pleased to have such expert testimony
to a practice to which I had long since
given my own approval. I dearly love
a cup of good cold tea, by which I mean
a well-steeped tea, devoid of all stem-
fibre bitterness, cooled by a small bit of
ice, to that degree of frigidity that pleas-
es the palate, and yet leaves one a taste
not frappe with the beverage. That is
my idea of perfect cold tea, and I don't
want any sugar or lemon or anything
else added to spoil the poetry of the
tea, I was quite relieved when I found a
great many Chinese and Japanese gentle-
men agree with me in this particular
taste.

On the African side of the Indian
Ocean there are gardens where a seed-
ling pekoe grows that fits my taste to a
nicety. It is nourished on beautiful
trade-winds, fed on balmy dews, sun-
drawn from the sea, and basket-fired,
like certain Japan teas. It is not much
like the orange pekoes from which it
springs, but is as nearly natural in color
and taste as we can easily get in these
sophisticated days, and I can drink it all
dav long without waking up my nerves.
That is when I can get it, for I have not
yet seen it in this country.

There is one little bit of beverage wis-

dom, I might make clear in a word of
advice at this point ; "don't make your
preference in tea a fad, unless you are
prepared to pay for it." Prices on tea
are mostly fancy. The real, scientific
differentiations are generally of minor
import, and any tea can be bought in
London as cheaply as it can in China.

Pure food ethics are not sustained at
any higher level among the beverages
than they are among the solids of the ta-
ble. Cocoa is peculiarly susceptible to
adulteration, and the art of stretching its
profits at the cost of its purity, has been
carried far in Europe as well as in the
States.

Coffee is burnished, painted, varnished
and mixed with imitation beans as well
as real beans from the cornfields, and
there is little doubt that restaurants all
over the world sell more chicory and
malt in imitation of coffee, than they do
of the real thing itself. Tea suffers least,
perhaps, at the adulterator's hands, and
when leaves of other plants are added,
the fraud is comparatively easy of de-
tection. The main point and about the
worst one on cheap teas, is the dirt and
dust left in them. On most of the large
tea estates in the East now, lead packets
are put up in small sizes, and generally
one can buy the best teas, just as they
leave the growers' hands. There is no
duty on table beverages in the United
States now, and our importers on both
oceans should be able to put the finest
"chops" on the market at popular prices,
without saying "by your leave" to Lon-
don.

Tea experiments in the Carolinas are
like to add a home article to our re-
sources in beverages, but the price for
perhaps a year or two yet, will not com-
pete with the popular "chops" of China
and Cevlon.

[HE COQUETTE OF THE RANCH

By HUGO ERICHSEN

JID McKEE pulled away at
straps almost viciously,
as he harnessed up the
mare to go to the station.
He was a tall, fine look-
ing young fellow, as
straight as a pine, with the rare combi-
nation of clear blue eyes and raven hair
that betokens the Celt. And, indeed,
he was of Irish descent and proud of it.
But not so proud but what he would
have put the harp of gold in the field of
green under the
stars and stripes
on the day we
celebrate. He
wore the tradi-
tional cowboy
costume and
looked as though
he had been born
in it. But what
was more to the
purpose in that
far Western
country, he was
known as the
best ,horseman
on the Little Big
Horn and pos-
sessed a reputa-
tion for fearless-
ness and marks-
manship that ex-
tended far be-
yond the con-
fines of the state.
Just then he was
clearly in a state <
o f perplexity,
for he scratched
his head and
knitted his
brows in a rhan-t
ner that evinced
all but a con-
tented frame of
mind.

"What's the

matter, Sid?" Tom Ferrers, the ranch
foreman, inquired, in passing," you look
as black as a thunder cloud."

"Well, it's enough to make anybody
feel sore," the young fellow responded,
""to think of my having to hitch up a
good horse to that outfit," and he waved
his hand contemptuously in the direction
of a buggy rather the worse for wear.

"I wouldn't do it for anybody but Miss
Tennie," he continued, and then con-
cluded mournfully," and to think of her

asking me t o
leave the saddle
to pilot that
thing."

"O, of course."
the foreman as-
sented with a
grin, "if Miss
Jennie asked ye,
y e ' d naturally
go.'" And he
hastened away
before the
young c o w -
puncher got a
chance to reply,
a circumstance
that didn't im-
prove that gen-
tleman's temper.
For it was well
known that Sid
was head over
heels in love
with Col. Mul-
len's daughter
■ — the virtual
owner of the
ranch, although
the title was in
her father's
name. Anybody
but Sid would
have been guyed
unmercifully by
the men, for
what thev con-

34

THE COQUETTE OE THE RANCH.

sidered presumption, but his dexterity
with the "gun" commanded their re-
spect and enforced silence. Moreover,
they liked him. Eerrers was the only
one who dared to make occasional allu-
sions to the matter.

The horse was panting when Sid
reached the. station. And the way he
had driven the poor beast, it was indeed
a miracle the buggy had not been wreck-
ed. Regardless of ruts and holes in the
roadways, they had gone up and down
grade at a rapid pace. Now and then
Sid was nearly jolted off his seat, a cir-
cumstance that only served to increase
his irascibility. He reached the little
depot, as it might have been called by
a stretch of the imagination, about half
an hour before the train pulled in and,
meanwhile amused some of the habitues
of the place by a vivid description of the
drawbacks and discomforts of riding in
an upholstered vehicle, as compared to
the manifest superiority and advantages
of the saddle.

But the pathetic, though stih youthful
figure that emerged from the train and
alighted with the assistance of the Pull-
man porter completely melted the heart
of the big fellow and made him as ten-
der as a woman.

"Is this Mr. Thomas Bridge?" he
asked, as he advanced toward the inva-
lid. The latter attempted to answer,
but a coughing- fit shook his emaciated
form, so he merely nodded and suffered
Sid to lead him toward the buggy and
to instal him on the upholstered cush-
ions the cowboy so much disdained. The
hectic flush on his high cheek bones
spelled the name of his disease. Of
medium height and light complexion, he
wore eye-glasses and had the appearance
of one who had delved much in the for-
gotten lore of bygone ages, but had seen
little of the world.

At least this was, true of the Western
world, for the very first words he ut-
tered gave offense. As soon as his cough
had subsided somewhat and ere they
started on the wearisome return journey,
he said : "I presume you're from Colonel
Mullen's ranch, my man ?"

Sid frowned, He was not accustomed

to be addressed in that manner. His first
impulse was to lay the whip on the
horse and jolt the impertinent mortal
into the ditch. But then, mindful of
the poor fellow's condition, he merely
said, "Ye're plumb right, stranger."

And now it was the newcomer's turn
to redden to the roots of his hair and
to resolve not to address the cowboys in
terms he was wont to apply to his East-
ern domestics. To the invalid's ques-
tion about the ranch Sid replied in mono-
syllables, till the one-sided conversation
flagged and finally terminated altogeth-
er, each man being occupied with his
thoughts. If Bridge has been familiar
with M cKee's antecedents, he might have
been still more impressed with the in-
congruity of his surroundings, for it was
commonly rumored along the Little Big
Horn that Sid had run away from col-
lege, in his Sophomore year, because he
refused to adopt a professional career
and had preferred the independence of
a cow-puncher to the ease and elegance
of a "gentleman." To the delight of
"Jimmie," the horse, Sid walked him all
the way, as though he were part of a fu-
neral procession, and thus enabled him
to recover from his previous exertions.

That night, when Sid, who shared the
foreman's room, kept Ferrers awake by
restlessly tossing on his mattress and
vainly seeking oblivion in sleep, he won-
dered why it was women-folk always
made such a fuss over sick people. Ever
since Bridge had arrived, Miss Jennie
had no eyes for any one else. Nothing
seemed too good for the invalid, who,
though a distant relative, in McKee's es-
timation was not entitled to so much con-
sideration. She all but tried to induce
the colonel to vacate his apartments and
would have succeeded, if it had not been
for the emphatic protest of Mary Stew-
art, the housekeeper. When it came
to the affairs of the household, Mary
was supreme and no one dared to dis-
pute her authority, not even Miss Jennie
whom, as a child, she had coddled and
spoiled.

Under the gentle ministrations of
Miss Mullen and the stimulating influ-

HUGO ERICHSEN.

35

ence of the balmy Western air, Bridge
rapidly improved. Dr. Hawkins, of the
near-by "Silver King" mine, attended
him regularly, but shook his head skep-
tically when allusions were made to the
manifest improvement of the invalid
and permanent recovery was predicted.
However, even he
was evidently puz-
zled by the fact
that Bridge gained
steadily in

strength, and was
soon able to move
about freely with-
out assistance.

But with a par-
tial restoration of
his former vigor, a
certain aggressive-
ness returned that
ill became him. To
Sid he showed a
decided aversion,
which the latter
treated with con-
tempt, being more
amused than an-
noyed by the ill-
natured remarks in
which the "tender-
foot" indulged.

Before long
Bridge had recov-
ered to such an
extent that he was
wont to strut, city
fashion, up a n d
down the long ve-
randa and boast of
his athletic feats
"when I was at
college, don't you
know." Many of
his vaporings were
overheard and re-
peated in the men's quarters, where
they were provided an unfailing source
of merriment. But the cow-punch-
ers took good care not to let the
colonel become aware of their comments ;
if there was one thing sacred on Mullen's
ranch, it was the traditional Western
hospitality. Sid's animosity to the stran-

ger was soon noted, however, and the
delight of the "hoys" knew no bounds
when they discovered that Bridge af-
forded them a means of guying McKee
indirectly, until the young fellow strode
out of the bunk-house in a state of great
indignation, and the assemblage gave
vent to a burst of
hilarity — when he
was safely out of
earshot.

strange to say,
the principal topic
of con versation
was the progress
Bridge was mak-
ing in the affec-
tions of "a certain
young lady,"
whom he courted
with all the wiles
of a city-bred Don
Juan. Every cow-
boy felt instinctive-
ly that it would
not do to mention
Miss Jennie's
name in connection
with the affair, al-
though it was per-
fectly evident
whom they meant.
And, stranger still,
Sid was in the hab-
it of frequenting
their quarters af-
ter nightfall, al-
though he knew
the turn their talk
would take and
how painful the
subject would
probably become
to him.

For, to tell the
truth, he felt there
was some warrant for their assertions.
Since the tenderfoot's arrival, Miss
Jennie had treated him with cool-
ness and had given him to un-
derstand that she preferred the for-
mer's company to his own. Time and
again, he was strongly tempted to deal
harshly with his rival, and he ground

tf

THE COQUETTE OE THE RANCH.

his teeth in impotent rage as the convic-
tion struck him that it would be cow-
ardly to call a sick man to account for
something in which a woman was the
sole arbiter. If Miss Jennie preferred
a man who had considerable holdings in
the West and could afford to support a
wife, to a poor cow-puncher whose sole
prospects for the future centered in an
irreconcilable father — whose business
was it?

But, as usual, the unexpected hap-
pened and the arch-enemy of the con-
sumptive— pulmonary hemorrhage — put
a sudden end to Bridge's improvement
and sent a cowboy, at a gallop, to the
"Bilver King." Sid had volunteered
for the ride, and it made the onlookers
hold their breath to note the breakneck
speed to which he urged his snorting In-
dian pony.

When he returned, he ushered Dr.
Hawkins into the presence of the inva-
lid, who, white as marble and quite ex-
hausted, sat propped up among a lot of
pillows, in bed, vainly endeavoring to
speak.

When, at length, he was again able to
make himself understood, he beckoned
to the doctor and conversed with him in
a low tone. Then, to Sid's surprise, the
doctor strode over to Miss Jennie and
talked to her earnestly. Evidently they
argued some point, for the physician
shook his head vigorously, while the de-
termined look that had settled on Miss
Mullen's face, ever since the conversa-
tion began, never left it. And finally,
when Sid's curiosity at all these myste-
rious conferences had reached the boil-
ing point, Jennie — smiling as only she
knew how to smile — came over to him
and said, in a voice loud enough for all
to hear: "Mr. AlcKee, I am going to
marry Mr. Bridge. Will you kindly
consent to be one of my witnesses?"

If it had not been so pitiable, it would
have been amusing. Sid stood before
her as though he had turned to stone,
and was clearly helpless. The color
had left his face and he had utterly lost
his usual aggressive appearance.

"You — You," he stammered at last,
vainly trying to compose himself. And

finally, with a mighty effort, he man-
aged to ejaculate a feeble: "Yes."

She had watched him narrowly all the
time. When he assented, she bowed
graciously, smiled sweetly and said: "I
knew you'd be willing ; if we had not
been such old friends, I would not have
asked you."

Old friends ! Sid felt the beads of cold
perspiration gather on his forehead. And
he thought she knew he loved her !

The happiness of Bridge, on the oth-
er hand, was beautiful to behold, and he
took no pains to conceal it. But Miss
Mullen's countenance, as usual, was in-
scrutable. "You must not exercise
yourself, dearest," she said calmly, when
he made an effort to embrace her."
You'll never get well if you do." And
she smoothed his pillow carefully, while
he followed every move she made with
eyes that plainly evinced adoration.

At the request of the sick man, the
wedding was to come off the following
day. So a cow-puncher was dispatched
to Rincon for a sky-pilot, as the irrever-
ent "boys" called the minister of the gos-
pel. That night, however, there was a
change for the worse in the condition of
the patient, and when Dr. Hawkins came,
with the dawn, he was just in time to see
the finale of a courtship that did not end
conventionally. Miss Jennie sat at the
bedside holding the hand of the stricken
man, whose countenance still bore the
ineffable look of happiness that had set-
tled on it the day before. No one else
was present but the doctor, the colonel
having retired early on account of a
slight indisposition. The stillness of
'the room was unbroken, save by the la-
bored breathing of the dying man. And
thus he passed away, while the peace of
God was in his looks and the woman he
loved at his side.

Instead of solemnizing a marriage, the
clergyman was persuaded to stay over
until the following day to pronounce the
last rites of his church over the lifeless
form of Thomas Bridge, whom death
had invested with a certain dignity he
had utterly lacked in life. A rude coffin
had been forthcoming from Rincon. its
shiny black surface being somewhat re-

HUGO ERICHSEN.

37

lieved by pine-boughs and wild flowers
from a neighboring- canyon.

To the surprise of the men, Miss Mul-
len bore her bereavement bravely. They
had expected her to be the only sincere
mourner of the occasion, and came pre-
pared to witness an exhibition of grief
ending in a flood of tears. Instead she
did not appear any more concerned than
the remainder of the assemblage, and a
casual observer would have scarcelv
picked her out as the chief mourner. She
was dressed in black, but that was the
only indication of bereavement she man-
ifested. She did not shed tears or show
any feeling, even when the reverend gen-
tleman alluded to her loss and dwelt elo-
quently on the sadness of her lot. Sid,
who watched her closely, was perplexed,
but the men attributed her stoicism to
Western pluck, admired her greatlv, and
made whispered comments on what thev
considered "a great case of nerve."
Bridge had never been popular among
them, as he had treated them in a super-
cilious manner they resented. Under
the circumstances it was not surprising,
therefore, that the funeral of the tender-
foot proved as unconventional as his
brief courtship had been. Everybody,
apparently, felt greatly relieved when the
body had been consigned to the express
car and the train sped away with it to
the East. The cowboys, in fact, made
no pretense to sorrow, and discharged
their revolvers into the air, on their way
home, to relieve their exuberant feelings.

It was greatly expected that Miss Jen-
nie would visit distant relatives for a
while after the funeral. But she did
nothing of the kind. She startled the
little community by appearing the next
morning in a dress of the brightest hue
and developed a sudden taste for horse-
back riding. Utterly fearless, she vis-
ited the most distant canyons of the val-
ley, although some of them were known
to abound with rattlesnakes.

On one of these occasions, quite acci-

dentally, of course, she suddenly came
upon Sid.

"O, Mr. McKee," she exclaimed, "how
you frightened me!" though she did not
look a bit alarmed.

The young ranchman raised his hat,
"it was quite unintentional, Miss Mul-
len," he observed, "I just happened to — "
"O, you needn't explain," she hastened
to say." I believe you — implicitly." and
her gay laugh woke the echoes in the
canyon.

Somehow he felt chagrined at her
merry mood, when he had expected to
find her pensive and down-hearted.

"At any rate," he remarked, "I do not
want to intrude upon your sorrow."
And with that he turned his horse about
as if to leave.

"Stop !" she cried, imperatively, her
mood undergoing an instant change,
"Who told you I indulge in that emo-
tion? And why should I be sorry?"

He was dumbfounded and did not
know what to reply.

"The mere fact that I was the affianced
of Mr. Bridge does not necessarily indi-
cate that I loved him and meant to be
his wife," she went on vehemently, "I
knew he was doomed. Dr. Hawkins
told me so. And I — I — wanted to see
him die happy — "

"And I did," she concluded triumph-
antly, "he passed away believing he
would recover and that I would be his."
Like one in a dream, the young ranch-
man heard the strange confession, Rein-
ing his horse close up to hers and clasp-
ing her struggling form in his strong
arms, he said, masterfully: "And now I
have a right to speak and tell you, Jennie,
that I have loved you for years, ever
since I have known you."

He intended to kiss her, to which she
offered no resistance, but just at the
crucial moment her horse made a lunge
that separated them. His dismay was
so comical, it made her laugh.

"Come and get it," she cried gaily, and
led the race down the canyon.

RAG MANDY'S VALENTINE

By EMMA D. NUCKOLS

i STORY from Uncle Olm-
stead Simmons is, as a
rule,,, to be doubted. He
was one whom nature had
endowed with a glib
tongue and a phenomenal
habit of coining words as he used them.
This was, perhaps, in reparation for
having given him legs so bowed that
they crossed at the ankles, and feet of
abnormal proportions which turned out
at an angle of forty-five degrees. He
was considered, despite his untruthful-
ness, the black oracle of the place, and
as Aunt Melissey had repeated the story
from him, it had been inspired with some
dignity ; the story that Rag Mandy had
a valentine. Tangle, a long wool, thick-
lip darkey, now carries it around.

Tangle is a good news carrier, his cir-
culation being well up in the hundreds,
for at each of his loafing places, which
means, at one time or another, every cor-
ner in town, he has an audience of sub-
scribers who pay in "chaw tobaccer,"
jewsharps, brass jewelry and poor whis-
key. They stand eager for any new
bit of a sensation in which they always
find Tangle's brain fertile.

"She sho' is got dat voluntime an' hit
ain' nobody gwine tell huccum she git
hit. 'Stracted er no 'stracted, Mandy
done cunjah niggahs fo' t'day. She a
'oman an' a witch. Ef she wan' chicken
fuh supper all she got to do is roll dem
eves en' de nices' pullet in white fo'k
hen-house jes' flap down daid."

Tangle has the reputation of being
what is known in the song as a "nachel
bawn readier," hence he is always ready
with some chicken episode to illustrate
his discourse.

Though '"spilen wid eyorosity" about
the valentine not a one of them had the
courage to encroach upon Mandy's pri-
vate affairs or to invade her sacred do-
mains even as far as the "po'ch." Half
woman and half witch though she be, she
can put to rout half a score of darkies,

as many grown white people, and all the
children in town by quietly turning about
and facing them.

Ever)- child who has grown up at the
Capital in the past forty years recognizes
at once the dwarfed little figure, hung
with the most ragged of clothes, the tiny
arm, knotty and brown as the fagots
which she carries in enormous bundles
on her head. She has a shriveled little
brown face with round flat nostrils and
round, starey eyes which look out from
beneath a bunch of rags twice the size
of- her head, serving as head covering
and cushion as well. Not infrequently
a large bag of rags is across her should-
er and in one hand the long handled iron
hook with which she rakes out her
prizes. She has no call like the city
rag man, neither does she accept chari-
ty. A bag of rags offered to her meets
with the rebuff: "I ain't no beggah."
Day after day she searches the alleys and
gardens, and as the result of her untir-
ing wanderings owns a good two-story
cabin which makes her the envy of half
the colored population.

Mandy is often the means of uncere-
moniously breaking up a game of mar-
bles bv appearing on the block. From
a good stronghold, such as a large tree
or a closed fence, the children call out :
"Rag Mandy, Rag Mandy, Ra-a-g Man-
dy!" and the boys send bits of earth in
their sling shots after her.

She turns slowly around in her wrath,
shakes her tiny fist and pours out her
rare vocabulary of swear words ending
in something about "low bred po' white
trash !"

At close range and unprotected these
little teasers address her politely as
"Aunt Mandy," and make haste to tell
her whose children they are. Some-
times the names come too slowly, she
darts at them and soon she sees nothing
but heel.

With the old childish fear still cling-
ing, but a curiositv newly inspired by
the approach of St. Valentine's Day, I

EMMA I). \'l'Ck< >LS.

y>

determined to visit Rag Mainly and gaze
on that valentine. I knew I must broach
the subject carefully and dignify my vis-
it with some unusual pretext.

"Better cross yo' fingahs fo' you goes
in Mandy's gate."

"I gwine out to dat red hai'd niggah
grab'n fotch you rabbit foot, honey."
"Mandy done conjer white fo'k, too!"
These warnings from three sources
did not augment my courage, and with
the expectation of being introduced to
spooks and hobgoblins, none of whom
could, I knew, be more terrifying than
Rag Mandy, I drove up to her cabin.
The place was as unmistakable as though
her name had been printed in large let-
ters on the fence, for her trade-marks
were everywhere. On the fence, hang-
ing from the trees, on the porch and
stuffed into the windows were rags of
every size, but principally of a muddy
color.

I had been there just once before
when, by means of taking her a cake, I
had inveigled her into coming to the
carriage for a friend to get a snap shot
of her.

The gate being open, I walked up the
rickety steps and stationed the coach-
man near, in case the visit should prove
unwelcome. A very gingerly tap
brought no response, and in a second I
knocked desperately. This time I heard
a few creaks and the door opened about
two inches wide, enough to disclose Aunt
Mandy's face forming a question mark.

I was facing, on the edge of her
threshold, Rag Mandy, witch, evil spir-
it, town terror! The old idea of protect-
ing myself came, and I said quickly,
'"How do you do? I am the eldest
daughter of Dr. ."

The door opened a little wider. No
response from Mandy, who turned and
called: "Mother, mother! Lady heah."
Then she shuffled out of the room.

"May T come in?" and, without wait-
ing, I walked in.

After a little, in came a larger and
lighter edition of Aunt Mandy, solemn
as the grave, and with a skin like old wet
tan leather. Her mouth was made hid-
eous by the growth of gums over her

iuw remaining teeth, and the white wool
above her face was partially covered by
a faded black rag.

Aunt Agnes was not much more hos-
pitable than her daughter, and seemed
to be inquiring for the excuse for my
visit.

"I wanted to see your white pine lied,"
I said, "someone told me that you had a
very old one."

"Dat ah, settin' over dyah by de chim-
bly, a mighty old baid, nigh on to a hun-
dred, I reckin."

I saw four posts, each surmounted by
a large ball and the rest of the old piece
was made invisible by a huge feather
bed and quilts.

"I kin tek de kivvers off," said Aunt
Agnes in an accommodating mood.

But I would not trouble her, I just
stooped and looked beneath, seeing that
ropes in innumerable knots supplied the
place of slats and that many articles
were stuck under them.

"You have a nice home," I said, mak-
ing conversation while I heard Mandy
coming. She stood in the doorway and
peeked around at me.

"Raggin's a mighty po' livin'," she
said. And, she might have added, one
not conducive to sweet odors, as only
the greatest fortitude enabled me to
endure the atmosphere. All the per-
fumes of Arabia would have been wast-
ed there in vain.

"Yas, mam. tain' much ; raggin's a
mighty po' livin'."

"Hit de will ob de Lawd," chimed in
Aunt Agnes, and Mandy with a bored
"Um-hum" went back into the darker
room. This sudden appearance and
disappearance she kept up during the
greater part of my stav.

I was anxious to get to my subject,
but I saw that a remark on its way was
animating Aunt Agnes.

"Wha' you doin', Mandy?"
"Jes* pickin' ma' rags," came her
voice from the next room.

"Mandy's the friskies' gal what ever
growed in do groun' or out (yo' heah
me!) I got sech a stiffenin' in my jints I
kyarn scasely shif 'long." In an in-
jured tone: "I stays heah and pintedly

40

RAG MANDY'S VALENTINE.

does all de work whiles she raggin'. Up
an' down, an' roun', an' ronn', in all dey
gyardins down hyah by de Captobul an'
de Spring (Supreme) Co't; in an' out-
en de hollers. Look like dat gal tosi-
cated in whiskey."

"U-m-h'm, I gits dat movin' roun' in
my haid," says Mandy.

"Tain' dat, Mandy, 'tain' dat; you
ain' got the Lawd Gord in yo* heaht. Git
de ligion o' Gord A'mighty." By this
time Aunt Agnes had adopted the ex-
horting tone. "Press yo' han' on yo'
heaht. De Lawd gwine suppo't you in
clem trials an' tribulations an' all dem
firy darts of de debil."

Aunt Mandy. in the door, again ex-
plaining to me:

"I gits dat movin' round in mah haid
an' I bleeged ter jump an' splunge.''

After her fervent appeal, which seem-
ed to have something of a threat in it,
Aunt Agnes was silent some minutes.
This silence was intended presumably,
for Mandy to show her conversion.

The daughter only glanced at her
mother timidly, while she raked the logs
in the old fireplace, and mumbled "tira-
hum" with every possible inflection and
a good deal of eloquence during the re-
buke. At the end, she said, looking at
me apologetically, "Fo'k done bin bawn
en growed up en coupled off en' married
sence I bin in de meetin' house. Caze
I gits dat movin' round' in mah haid."

Mandy's appreciation of her lack of
mental balance was clear enough, but
to Aunt Agnes this frivolous young thing
of 60 needed to be held with a severe
hand, and all her peculiarities were at-
tributed to meanness. "Raggin' ain't
fit full nutbin'," said the- mother with-
eringly, as she rose and shuffled through
the door.

I hoped my opportunity had come at
last, and I asked :

"You often find pretty things?" then I
added quickly, "you found a valentine."
(That was the accepted story.)

Mandy turned and with a little chuckle
said :

"Dyah now ! How you fin' out 'bout
dat voluntime?"

"It was a long time ago?" I asked,

urging her on. She pointed her little
bony finger at the door through which
her mother had gone, then moved un-
easily back and forth in front of the fire.

"Hit want so long yit, an' still, hit
want so short, hit torreckly ahfter Mars
Palmer gin me my age one day in de
sto'. He 'lowed I gwine on 25. Reck'n
hit forty years sense he lowed dat."

"May I see it?" timidly I said it.

The strange little woman hobbled
away to get it and her mother called out,
"In cloze press in tur room."

But Mandy only looked toward the old
bed and grinned a fiendish grin which
startled me almost out of my seat.

"B'long to dat man wha' jump off'n
de bluff," she said aloud. "D you eber
heah tell o' dat man wha' fell ovah de
bluff en' break he neck? Sho! didn't
you?" She laughed and screwed her
face up at me, which said as plainly as
words, "This is a lie."

Of course every one knew of the
young fellow who had met death so trag-
ically.

"Dat man jump off'n de bluff fuh lub.
He hab pain in he heaht jes' same es
knife slit en' he jump off to ease hit.
I ramblin' long dyah on de railroad track
en I find dis heah right nigh wha' dey
fin' him, on'y hit in de gully en I poke
clown mah hook en' drag hit out."

Just then Aunt Agnes came through
the room, opened the outer door and
went down the steps into the street.
Mandy's face changed in a moment; she
turned to me and said:

"Whiles she heah I feels jes like a
snow bank wid de sun shinin' on hit. Ef
she know'd Rufe done gin me dis heah
voluntime dey ain' no kalkerlatin' what
she'd do. She done druv him off, but
he gwine come back prescn'ly."

After reaching under the old bed she
came over to me, carefully loosening the
flannel selvage tied around a package she
held. She handed me the yellow and
spotted envelope that had once been
white and I saw a delicate, embossed
tracery around the edge. • There was
no writing on it, and it looked ready to
drop to pieces. I took the valentine out
and found it, too, was a smoky yellow,

EMMA D. WCKOI.S.

4T

with brown spots marring its glazed
surface. In the center were two large
apoplectic and faded red hearts pierced
through and through by Cupid's dart. A
wreath of embossed white roses sur-
rounded the hearts, and a border of the
same flowers, with a 'lacy scallop, dec-
orated the edges. The valentine was
double. I looked inside for a verse and
found Burns' words :

My luv is like the red, red rose
That's newly sprung iii June,
My luv is like the melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.

I read the other verses todier, too. She
settled herself on an old three-legged
stool, saying sentimentally :

"Dem*s lub words." After a pause
she added :

"I done lub jes one man, en lub twel
I dies.

I turned to her and could almost have
cried over the look of tenderness which
came into her face. Surely the soul
beneath that weazened black face was
a white one.

Beautiful devotion to a first and only
love, I thought, with a good deal of an-
noyance, considering that her "first and
only" was a no'count, wife-abusing
scamp who deserted her, the negroes
said, twenty years ago, and who stumped
along on one leg.

"I ain' like dese heah little fillies wha'
runs roun' now, keepin' comp'ny wid a
dozen niggahs, a-dressin' onery en mak-
in' mouf en twissin' dey eyes. I lub
and marries jes one man, en ef.I sot
down in trouble I don' ax none on em
no odds. I sticks by him th'oo thick en
thin, en wet en dry. Ef he gwine to
de jail, I gwine dyah, en ef he gwine to
de 'tentiary, I gwine dyah. Cose, ef
he gwine to de debil I sho' ain' gwine
dyah. Ef des heah little fillies b'long
to my ole mass' he gin em Mass'ippi
water to drink en put em in he pocket
fur change."

The prospect of being sold down
South was a great dread of most of the
slaves. '*

"I dun tole Rufe," she went on, "bout

de voluntime wha' Miss Sadie git fum
Mass Gawge Cyarter. 1 tant him en'
say any niggah wha' got any sense sen'
his gal a voluntime. Rufe set a heap
o' sto' by me when we was pickanin-
nies caze I could jump frum de top rail
on de gyardin fence."

Then she told with pride how he
helped her about her work and when
they stood side by side in the tobacco
fields and her fingers grew sore he
stripped the tobacco leaves that be-
longed to her task.

"One day I come 'long and see Rufe
standin' gin a tree lookin' up at Miss
Sallie winder en I ax him, 'Wha' you
standin' dyah lak yo' 'stracted fob?''

"He whip up'n say, "I ain' standin'
heah waitin' fob no sassy valler gal,"
Rufe was blacker en' me. I jes laff
and run long down de pafr*.

"De nex' mawnin' dey war a great
myration roun' Aunt Sindy's cabin and
de little niggahs stampede up and down
hollerin' 'Rnfe done killed,' 'Rufe
done killed." Mah heaht gin to
beat so hard hit come plum up in
mah mouf an' I make tracks down hyah
to make sho' he wan' daid. Aunt Siridy
set dyah mohnin' 'bout her son en' sav,
'Rufe ain' daid, but he# git a drinkin' an'
muddled in he haid, den he cum home
and stumble in de hot bed by Miss Sallie
winder en' break he laig. Look like he
min' wanderin', en he sav he got som-
fin' to tell you, Mandy.' " '

"Soon es I come in de room Rufe gin
to blubber, en he layin' dyah so weak and
po'ly, hit make me blubber, too." The
tears came to Mandy's eyes. "I come
close to de baid and he sez : 'Hit wah all
fuh you, Mandy. You set so much sto'
by dat voluntime, and heah it is.' Then
he drawed it out'n de quilt. Seem lak
mah heaht gwine jump clean out o' mah
bres'. Sho' es de Lawd I done tant him
one day en I ax de Lawd to fergive me.
I got 'ligion in mah heaht, but I ain' got
hit in de chu'eh. Den he say, 'I slip
up in Miss Sallie room whiles dey all
eatin' dey suppah. I couldn' fin' it at
fust, en I jus got it and slapt it under
mah co't en 'lowed some.bodv gwine

42

THE ELOPEMENT op MARY ELLEN.

com'n an' I hyeard a big noise outside de
do', den I know'd Rufe got to jump en
I went to de winder and jump."

He look like he got a pain in he heaht
and he laig, too, and I up and said :
'Rufe. I ain' gwine fool wid you no mo'.
I ain' leave him all day, and in de evenin'
we was married and I nuss him twell

he well. Fo' Gord, ef he heah now en
ef he drunk T jes look at dat laig, en ef
he shiff roun' lazy I look at dat laig, en
ef he git in de jail I think 'bout dat laig."
As Mandy finished her story T rose and
left as quietly as I could, f°r I f^t that
I had been an intruder upon sacred ter-
ritory.

THE ELOPEMENT OF MARY ELLEN.

By PERCY T. CARNES

HERE was great excite-
ment throughout Chestnut
Ridge neighborhood,
when the announcement
was made that Joel Stokes
had sold his farm on the
mountain and had bought another in
Spring- Valley, to which he would soon
remove with his family. The news was
carried from house to house, and in an
incredibly short period of time was the
one topic of conversation, even among
the dwellers of the remotest cove.

The great majority of the mountain
folk honored and respected Joel Stokes,
despite his frequent outbursts of temper.
Was he not the leading spirit, the wise
counsellor, the one dominant factor in
all political, religious and educational in-
terests of their little world?

Was there another such woman, the
whole length and breadth of the moun-
tain as Mrs. Jane Stokes? One so ten-
der, so motherly, so sympathetic? Never,
'as far back as their memories ran, had
there been sorrow, or sickness, or death
in a household that she, like some com-
missioned angel of mercy, had not been
there to soothe and comfort with kind
words and gentle ministrations.

Pretty, willful, "spoiled" Mary Ellen,
aged nineteen, the only child of the
Stokes household, received her meed of
praise, even from those who had predict-
ed most direful things for her. Since

childhood, she had been the object of gos-
siping criticism ; her unrestrained gayety
had been frowned on by the pious ma-
trons of the staid, ultra-conservative,
neighborhood, and her popularity with
the young men had made her an object
of envious jealousy on the part of the
maidens of Chestnut Ridge.

But now that she was about to be re-
moved from their midst, all could recall
much in her life that was worthy of
praise and emulation. Many mentally
concurred with the vigorously expressed
opinion of Bill Murphy, the postmaster
and storekeeper, that "Joel Stokes' boy,"
as he jocularly called Mary Ellen, would
he missed "more'n airv other gal on the
Ridge."

The day announced for the departure
of the Stokes family dawned clear and
balmy. Long before the sun had peep-
ed up over Blue Mountain, which tow-
ered above the low-lying hills some miles
to the east, men, women and children
were hurrying along footpaths and moun-
tain roads towards the Stokes home-
stead. All must be there to bid the
family good-hy and see them off. Wom-
en left their beds unmade and their dish-
es unwashed, men and boys left their
chores unperformed, and Bill Murphy
left the store to run itself ; "and ef any-
body wants their mail, thev can go in
and help themselves." With the ex-
ception of Granny Staggs, the fortune-

PERCY T. CARNES.

43

teller, and Noah Willeford, Mary Ellen's
suitor, the entire population of Chestnut
Ridge was there.

After the many good-byes had been
said, Stokes waved his long raw-hide
whip above the backs of his patient oxen
and gave the command to go. He was
followed by his wife and daughter in an-
other wagon. Mary Ellen was an ex-
pert horse-woman, and her father knew
she could be trusted with the spirited
team of horses.

When the slow-moving wagons had
passed from the view of the neighbors,
who still lingered in clusters about the
yard, Mary Ellen called to her father:
"Dad, let mother ride with you ; the
horses is eager to go faster. They need
tonin' down some before we start down
the mounting, so I'll drive on ahead to
the creek and visit with the Fleming
girls till you come."

"Now, Mary Ellen," cautioned her
father, after Mrs. Stokes had been trans-
ferred from one wagon to the other, ''you
be shore to lock both 'hind wheels before
you start down the hill; do you hear?"

"Yes, I'll be keerful," she called back
over her shoulder. The thought that
somewhere up the road Noah Willeford
was awaiting her coming made her im-
pat:ent to be gone. She gave free rein,
to the horses, and was soon lost to
the view of her father and mother.

As the wagon rounded a curve in the
road, a man stepped from his conceal-
ment behind a giant chestnut tree, and
sprang to the place on the great roll of
bedding, so recently vacated by Mrs.
Stokes.

"Noah !"

"Yes, it is me, Mary Ellen. I didn't
know but maybe yore dad was in this
wagon, so I hid till I seed it was just
you."

"Noah, air ye sorry to see us leave?"
"Sorry! 'Course I'm sorry. I know
yore daddy hates me like pizen. but I
hate to see him go. I'm sorrier still to
see yore mother go. As fur you, Mary
Ellen, I'd ruther lose my eye-teeth an'
the best coon-dog I've got than see you
leave this mounting!"

Tears came into the girl's eyes as she
said, "I'd most ruther die than go!"
• Grasping the girl's hand and pressing
it to his lips, a most unusual thing among
the undemonstrative mountaineers,
Willeford exclaimed passionately : "I
caint ask you to marry me now, Mary
Ellen, but I won't be long in comin' fur
you. I caint do without you much longer.
You won't furgit me, when yo git down
amongst them fine folks in the valley,
will you, Mary Ellen ?"

"I'll never furgit you, ner fursake you,
Noah, so help me God!"

"Amen!" fervently ejaculated Wille-
ford. "Now listen: Yore daddy knows
I'm honest an' sober an' industrious ; but
he ain't got no use fur me because I
trade, 'peddle.' he calls it. I can make
more money tradin' sugar, coffee, soap
an' calico fur butter, eggs an' varmint
skins, than I can make farmin' that sas-
safrack land my daddy left me, that's
why I trade. I'll soon have enough
money saved up to put us up a good
house, then I'm comin' fur you. I'll ax
yore dad fur you, fair an' square ; if he
won't give you to me, I'll take yo anv-
how!"

"I hate to go agin daddy's will ; but I'll
go when you come fur me, Noah."

"Here we air, at the creek hill ; I must
leave you here, Mary Ellen. May I
write to you sometimes?"

"Yes, do ; I'll write to you, too."

Willeford quickly snatche'd one kiss
from the unsuspecting maiden, leaped to
the ground, and quickly locking the
wheels of the wagon with the chains pro-
vided for that purpose, turned into the
dense woods.

The Stokeses, though born and reared
in that section of the Cumberland moun-
tains where all the inhabitants are popu-
larly supposed to be poor, ignorant and
vicious, were accounted well-to-do. They
were not so illiterate as the majority of
their neighbors. Joel and Jane Stokes
easily took their places among the more
prosperous farmers of Spring Valley.

Mary Ellen did not take kindly to her
changed environments. Customs ob-
taining in the valley were so radically
different from those of the simple moun-

44

THE ELOPEMENT OF MARY ELLEN.

tain folks! She had no desire to become
a part of the self-satisfied, cultured com-
munity to which she had been unwillingly
transplanted. She was homesick for
her beloved mountains and a sight of —
him !

One afternoon, she went to the neigh-
boring post-office, as was now her daily
custom, and inquired for mail. The
genial postmaster handed her a letter,
remarking: "That's likely the one you
have been expecting; may it make you
happy, my child !"

Thanking him, Mary Ellen hurriedly
left the store. Her rapid walking soon
brought her panting, but expectantly
happy, to a quiet retreat.

Seating herself on the projecting root
of a grand old beech, whose densely fo-
liaged branches sheltered her from the
burning rays of an August sun, she fe-
verishly tore open the precious misive
and read :

"Chestnut Ridge, Aug. 2.
"Miss Mary Ellen Stokes,

"Spring Valley.
"My Own Heart's Idol :

"Had I the eloquence of a Demosthe-
nes, the giant intellect of a Webster, and
the persuasive powers of one of the
prophets of old, whose utterances were
inspired by the great Spirit, I would still
be unable to express the emotions that
every thought of you arouses ! My every
waking thought is of you ; I dream of
you by night. Could I but have the
blissful assurance that you sometimes
think of me, how happy I should be !
Like ships on the ocean, we would signal
across the waves, the rocks and the
islands to each other, and by and by
would together glide into the harbor.

"The influence of your pure soul and
the memory of your angelic face and
beautiful form are, in great part, the se-
cret cause of my hard struggle for world-
ly success. I would sacrifice every
worldly honor and ambition for one kiss
from your virgin lips! "Believe me,
"Your loyal lover,

"Noah Willeford."

"P. S. I am comin' down to Spring
Valley pirty soon. Guess yore dad will

rase old Harry, but I caint stay away
from you mutch longer. Look our fur
me. "Noah."

The contents of this letter gave Mary
Ellen unbounded pleasure ; but she was
surprised that Noah should construct an
epistle containing such wonderful
phraseology. She sat for a long time in
dreamy meditation.

Her reverie was at last broken by the
lour crashing; of a dead twig behind her.

"Daddy!"

"Yes, it's me. I didn't mean to spy
on you ; but seein' you here I thought I
would slip up clost an' say 'boo!' What
you readin'?"

"A letter."

"Who from ?"

"A friend."

"Don't lie to me, girl ! Who's that let-
ter from? Let me see it."

"O, daddy, what did yo come for? I
don't want voir to see this letter."

"Mary Ellen, hand me that letter;
you know better'n to disobey me."

Joel Stokes read the letter through
without a word of comment. He fold-
ed the sheets, tremblingly put them into
the envelope and then into his pocket.
His face, now livid with rage, was terri-
ble to look on ; but his words were few.

"Mary Ellen, I have always told you
that you should never marry that ped-
dler. Go home now an' stay there. If
you write to Noah Willeford, I'll — , no
I won't kill you ; but his hide won't be
wuth shucks if he shows up in this val-
ley !"

As her father turned and walked
briskly back to his work, Mary Ellen
arose and tottered homeward. She felt
weak and forlorn and staggered as if
from a blow from the callous, toil-hard-
ened hand of her father. She not only
felt that her dreams and hopes of halcy-
on days with her mountain lover were
forever blasted ; but she feared that he
would come to the valley only to be shot
down by her unrelenting father. She
recalled with a shudder, his oft-repeated
threat to shoot any young man who at-
tempted to steal his idolized daughter!

The house in which the Stokes family
lived was an old four-roomed log struc-

PERCY T. CARNES.

45

ture, used originally by overseers of the
large plantation of which the Stokes farm
had been a part. Mary Ellen's room was
separated from her father's and mother's
by a wide, open hall-way. Into this
room, she was thrust by her father that
night, and the door and two small win-
dows were securely fastened. Not only
that night, but every night thereafter,
was this cautious, cruel action taken by
her father, to prevent her flight, or any
attempt to get word to Willeford.

One evening, while the family was at
supper, some one knocked on the front
door.

"Thar, Mary Ellen, go see who it is.
Somebody fur yore mother, I guess. I
wush folks would send fur the doctor,
'stid o' botherin' Jane so much !" He had
grown more crabbed since the day he
read YYilleford's letter.

Mary Ellen went to the door, in obe-
dience to her father's command.

"Noah! My God, Noah, leave here
quick !'' whispered the girl hoarsely.
"Father will shoot you !"

"No, Mary Ellen ; I won't leave with-
out seein' him. Tell him I am here, and
that I want to see him. I'll ask him
fur you, fair and square, as I said ; but
you must be ready to fly with me to-mor-
rer night at twelve o'clock. Which is
yore room?"

"This one," said the girl, indicating
the room across the open hall ; "but I am
locked in every night !"

"That's all right : you be ready to go ;
I'll git you out. Now, hurry back to
the kitchen an' tell yore daddy I want
to see him."

"Well, who is it?" Stokes sternly ask-
ed, as the girl stood tremblingly in the
door-way.

"A man to see you, daddy."

"Why didn't you fetch him in? Come
in, neighbor, come in," called Stokes
loudly and cordially.

Mrs. Stokes turned pale, and Man-
Ellen sank limply to a chair as Noah
VYSHeford appeared in the doorway.

"Howdv, Mrs. Stokes; howdy, Mr.
Stokes !" '

"Why, it's that peddlin' Willeford!
What in tarnation blazes air vou here

fur?" asked Stokes, wrathfully, as he
arose from his chair.

"Now Joel, be keerful what you do,"
pleaded Mrs. Stokes, as she laid a re-
training hand on her husband's arm.

"Mr. Stokes," said Willeford in a firm,
persuasive tone. "I am here to ax you,
fair an' square, fur Mary Ellen ; you kin
give her to me or not jest as you please ;
but tha ain't no need o' fightin' about it.
If you still don't want me to have her,
jest say so, an' I'll leave."

"Then, young feller, you'll leave ! But
I want to ast you a question or two fust.
Whar did you git this letter?" drawing
from his pocket the letter he had taken
from Mary Ellen.

"Whar did you git it, sir?" demanded
Willeford hotly.

"I tuck it away from Mary Ellen, if
you want to know ! Who writ it?"

"I did, sir."

"Yes, but who showed you how? You
ain't got sense enough to write a letter
like this by yore self!"

Willeford flushed under the stinging
words, but answered truthfully: "Pro-
fessor Morgan lent me a book on lettei-
writin' an' I copied most of the letter out
en that book."

"All right ; now you kin go. If I see
you in this valley agin, I'll shoot you
.like I would a mad-dog; go!"

Willeford shot a quick, reassuring
glance at Mary Ellen, and quickly walk-
ed away into the darkness.

All that night Stokes sat in the open
hall, with his gun across his knees. He
was really disappointed that Mary El-
len's abduction was not attempted. He
went about his work in the morning with
the feeling that Willeford had gone back
to the mountains never to return. His
passionate heat gradually wore away dur-
ing the day ; but he was still determinea
that his daughter should not wed the
"peddler."

About eight o'clock that night, Mary
Ellen was locked in her room and the
old man again resumed his watch. He
felt that it would be wise to keep vigil
a few nights. Put his vigil of the pre-
vious night, and the physical exertions

46

THE ELOPEMENT OF MARY ELLEN.

of the day were too much ; he soon fell
into a deep sleep !

When he awoke, it was to find his gun
gone ! He rushed to Mary Ellen's door,
but it was locked, just as he had left it;
the windows, also were secure. But at
a corner of the house, he discovered the
means of escape. A carpenter's jack-
screw and blocks had been used under
the projecting end of a log. The log
was raised above the one beneath it fif-
teen or twenty inches. Through the
aperture thus formed the girl had passed
out to her persistent lover.

"I'll ketch 'em or bust !'' raved Stokes,
as he heard the clatter of horses' hoofs
growing fainter on the hard road. He
quickly bridled his swiftest horse, and,
without taking time to saddle the ani-
mal, mounted and sped swiftly after the
fleeting couple.

"Listen !" said Willeford, as he and
Mary Ellen rode up the steep bank oi
the creek. "Yore daddy is follerin' us
an' we've a mile to go yet, before we git
to 'Squire Turner's ! But whip up, an'
we'll make it."

As they alighted at Turner's gate,
they heard the clatter of hoofs not more
than a quarter of a mile distant. Rush-
ing into the house Willeford exclaimed,
"For God's sake, 'squire, say the words
quick ; the old man is nearly here !"

After secreting her husband, two
grown sons and the elopers, Mrs. Tur-
ner smiled serenely and tried to assume
an innocent air. But she shivered slight-
ly as the bulky form of the irate Stokes
rolled from the horse and came bound-
ing toward the house.

"Whar air they?" he demanded excit-
edly, upon seeing no one but Mrs. Tur-
ner.

"Whar is who?" adroitly asked the
woman. "If it is the 'squire and the
boys you're wantin' to see, you ort to
hollered 'Hello' like a sensible man, 'stead
o' tumblin' pell-mell into the house like
old looney Crabtree !"

"Well, Madam, I'm sorry ef I fright-
ened you ; but ef yore only gal had run

away with a peddler, you would be cra-
zy, too. Whar air they?"

"They're gone," calmly replied the
woman.

"Gone!" Stokes crossed the room and
walked out into the backyard. He
peered into the chicken house, wood-
shed and every tence corner ; then he
returned to the house and searched un-
der tables, beds and chairs !

"Mr. Stokes, you'll never find 'em, so
you might as well give it up. When
young folks sets their heads to git mar-
ried, they're goin' to git married. You
did it yoreself ; but I guess its been so
long ago, vou've done clean forgot about
it!", "

"Yore daughter is done married to
that plucky, nice-lookin' young man ; so
there ! Now, act like a sensible man an'
invite 'em back home fur the balance of
the night. If you was to carry out yore
foolish threat to shoot the man, you
would be shootin' yore daughter's hus-
band. It would most kill her, an' you
would hang for it ! Better act sensible,
an' invite 'em home."

Stokes stook gazing into the darkness
for some minutes, then dropped heavily
into a chair. Burying his face in his
large, rough palms, he sobbed like a
whipped child. At last he raised be-
seeching, tear-dimmed eyes to the wom-
an and said huskily, "How can I invite
'em home, when I don't know whar in
thunder they're at ?"

"I'll try to find 'em," she said very
tenderlv, "when vou're readv to forgive
'em."

Stokes arose and tramped heavily
across the room several times. At last,
he laughed nervously as he said, "Well,
I hate like pizen to lose my gal. but I
hain't railly got nuthin' agin Noah ; I
guess I'm ready."

Mrs. Turner quickly threw back a rug
from a corner of the room and raised a
trap door. 'Squire Turner cautiously
crept up the rickety stairs, followed in
turn by his stalwart sons and the blush-
ing bride and groom.

A SOCIAL STUDY

By CARRIE FENNER MOORE

OAIE and sit by me, Phyllis
dear, this will be our last
evening together," said
Robert Raymond, leaning
back in a comfortable
rocker on a vine embow- ,
ered piazza.

"Our last evening,'' exclaimed Phyllis,
"have you sudden news that makes your
return to town imperative?"

"Yes, sweet girl, I have received sud-
den news, but it did not come by post or
telegraph," he replied.

"How then ?'' she asked.

"By intuition."

"From whence ?"

"From my heart."

Phyllis laughed, a low musical laugh,
and turning, drew a clematis blossom
toward her and laid her face against it.

"How long is it, dear, since Jim fished
me out of the bottom of that ravine, and
brought me to you mud-bespattered and
disgusted?'' he asked.

"Four weeks," she answered gently.

"When I look into your eyes and hear
your voice I feel that those four weeks
are the actual span of my existence," he
said in a voice expressing some emotion.

"What nonsense," she murmured.

"Yes, that is what it is, Phyllis dear.
It is nonsense for a struggling artist to
ruin his prospects and high social stand-
ing by following the impulse of his
heart," he answered her.

"I do not understand you, she re-
plied.

"You know I love you ?"

"You have said so."

"Have I not expressed it in a thou-
sand different ways?" he exclaimed re-
proachfully.

Phyllis remained silent.

"I wish you would come near, dear,
I must speak seriously ; must make you
understand how it is," he pleaded 'earn-
estly.

"Yes," she said quietly, as she seated
herself in the chair next to him.

"Oh, why are you only a country
lass !" he cried, as he saw her pure pro-
file outlined against the sunset sky.

"Is that a crime?" she asked, looking
straight at him with her wonderful eyes.

"You have no social standing, no mon-
ey. Oh, nothing that counts as value
in the world I have worked so hard to
become a part of," he said, almost fret-
fully.

"Has it been worth while?" she asked.

"It is the only thing to do, he said,
"as far as happiness goes, I have known
more right here with you, and going
sketching and fishing with your brother
Jim, than I ever dreamed of before ; but
it is fame and position that are the real
things, not mere sentiment and content."
Robert explained.

"I don't agree with you," she said soft-
ly, I think love and happiness are the
only things worth striving for."

"Being a woman that is quite natural,"
he laughed. "Fancy me, Robert Ray-
mond, burying myself and my talents
here in the country, and living out my
life in Arcadian simplicity just because
I love you. Could you accept such a
sacrifice ?

"If you loved me, I mean the real love,
it would not be a sacrifice. You would
never think of it as such," she answered.

"I love you better than I have ever
loved before," he said earnestly, "but
you cannot understand, because you
know nothing of our world. If I mar-
ried you I should lose all that I have
been striving for during the last twenty
years."

"And the sacrifice would be too
great?"

"It is not to be thought of," he said,
apparently not noticing the little ring of
irony in her voice. "But I must go,
dear one, I am going very early in the
morning. This must be our good-by.
I have lingered too long already. I — I
must ^o," and he rose and reached out
both hands to her.

48

A SOCIAL STUDY.

She placed her own in them and look-
ed at him seriously.

"Have you thought, Robert, what it
might mean to me when you are gone?"

He looked annoyed and then surprised.
"I am afraid I haven't, dear girl,'' he
said. "I — why, Phyllis, you are not go-
ing to mourn, are you?"

Phyllis laughed. How he loved to
hear her laugh.

"Good-by, Mr. Raymond," she said
blithely. "Do not feel any uneasiness
on my account. We have had a pleas-
ant time together, and in parting I should
like to express one wish for you."

"What is that?" he asked, rather be-
wildered by her quick change of manner.

"It is that the experiences of the com-
ing years will so enlarge your nature
that you will think sometimes of others,
and that you will come to understand
the meaning of what is real in life."

She was gone before he could answer
her, and he did not see her again. He
tried to congratulate himself that he had
gotten off so easily, but as he journeyed
back to town, he did not feel the satis-
faction he had anticipated.

"Hello, Raymond. When did you get
back ? Haven't seen you for a perfect
age," said Jack Norman, cordially.

"I came back a week ago," answered
Robert, "but I have been working pret-
tv hard, and didn't get round to the club.
How are you, and how have you passed
the summer?"

"Pleasantly enough. I went across
the water for rest and that sort of thing,
you know," replied his friend, "but what
have you been up to, you don't look as
though the summer had agreed with you
tip-top. Come in and let's have some-
thing while we talk it over."

"I went into the country," said Robert
as soon as they were seated, "thought
I was going to do a lot of work, but
some way I didn't accomplish much."

"Girl or mosquitoes?" asked Jack,
watching the rings of smoke curl up
from his favorite cigar.

"I am not sure," replied Robert, with
a short laugh. "Tell me, Jack, what do
you consider the real things of life?'"

"What's this you are springing on

me, old man, you must go easy when
you are starting off on a new line."

"I just wanted to know," replied Rob-
ert, meekly, "what seemed to you the
real things of life. I mean, the things
that make life worth living."

"Well, this cigar, for one thing," said
Jack, falling into his friend's humor.

"Yes," assented Robert.

"This club, the freedom and the com-
forts of it, and the jolly old boys like
yourself who hang around."

"Yes, but — " began Robert.

"Oh, of course, social position, pretty
girls, and success along your own par-
ticular line, that brings in the cash., I
fancy that about sums it up," said Jack,
conclusively.

"Is there nothing else?" asked Robert
seriously.

"Why, man, what more could you
want, except perhaps, late in life, the
one woman with money to carry you
comfortably through?" replied Jack.

"I should have agreed with you a
week ago, but now, well, now I am not
so sure," said Robert, meditatively.

"Go ahead, old fellow, I know what
this means. What is her name ? and
Jack settled back with the air of a mar-
tyr.

"Phyllis Cunningham."

Jack started and gave a low whistle.
Robert did not seem to notice, but con-
tinued :

"I fell down a ravine in the country
one day, and a red-headed boy fished me
out and took me home with him. It
was just the ideal sort of a place I had
been looking for, and, after some per-
suasion, they took me to board."

"But about the girl," said Jack.

"I am- coming to that, she lived there
with her mother and brother, by jove,
but she is a beauty, never saw such
eves!" exclaimed Robert, growing ani-
mated.

"Of course," said Jack calmly.

"It isn't, of course, at all," said Robert
"it is tragic. Can't you see that I love
her, and that T have had to come away
and leave her?"

"But why?. I should think Phvllis Cun-
ningham was a good enough name for

CARRFK FENNER MOORE.

49

any man," said Jack, "Only I thought she
was en — "

"Tlie name is good enough," Robert
interrupted, "but don't you understand
that a man can't bring a country girl in-
to our set?"

Jack started to his feet. 'Robert/'
he said, "either you are a "fool or I am
on the wrong track. Are you going to
Mrs. James Ashton's ball to-night?"

"I suppose I must, but what is the
matter, I don't understand you?" asked
Robert in surprise.

"I don't understand either," said Jack,
"but I'll see you to-night and things may
clear up."

"I hope so," said Robert, tersely.

"By the way, have you seen Roger
Clifton, he's in great luck."
("How so?" asked Robert.

"He has sold one of his pictures for
a fabulous price, and is engaged to the
richest and handsomest girl of the sea-
son. They will be at the ball to-night.
She has just returned from the country
where she has been spending a few
weeks with some cousins. She lived
in Europe until this spring. Roger
.net her there."

"He was always a luck dog," said
Robert enviously.

"Well, good-by, glad to have seen
you. Hope we will meet to-night," said
Jack, shaking his friend's hand, and as
he went out he muttered to himself,
"Can there be two Phyllis Cunning-
hams?"

"So kind in you to remember me,"
murmured Robert Raymond, as he bow-
ed low over Mrs. Ashton's hand.

"You know you are always very wel-
come," she replied, cordially, and then
he was swept along, as a throng of new
arrivals crowded in to pay their respects
to the charming hostess.

A few months ago so cordial a wel-
come from such a wonderful woman as
Mrs. James Ashton, would have accord-
ed him great satisfaction, for he would
have felt assured of his social success
for the winter. Rut to-night he did
not feel the old pride in his surround-

ings. They did not seem so vital to
him.

lie received many warm greetings as
he passed through the rooms, but at
last he paused at the door of a conser-
vatory and idly watched the people pass
to and fro. Suddenly, one face stood
out from all the rest:

"Phyllis," he cried, with quick emo-
tion. She turned and reached out her
hand to him.

"How do you do, Mr. Raymond," she
said, sweetly, "I am glad to meet you
again."

"But Phyllis, Miss Cunningham, what
does it all mean ?" he exclaimed.

"It means that I am not so unacquaint-
ed with your world as you supposed,"
she said, and once again he heard that
low laugh that thrilled and satisfied him.

"Why did you not tell me?" he asked
eagerly. "Oh, I am so happy to find
you here. I have been so miserable
this past week."

"Indeed," she said, archlv.

"Yes, dear, I have found that, after
all, love is the real thing in the world,
and I love — "

"Roger, dear, you know Mr. Ray-
mond, don't you?" she interrupted, as a
tall, handsome man approached them.

"Why yes, Rob, old boy, glad to see
you. Why haven't you been around to
offer congratulations?" said Mr. Clin-
ton, heartily.

"I just heard about the picture to-
day," Robert began in confusion.

"Oh, bother the picture. It is the
winning of Phyllis that I would be con-
gratulated on," said Roger, and he drew
her hand through his arm as only a lov-
er can.

Robert never knew what he said, or
how he found his way out of the house,
though he remembered afterward hav-
ing seen Jack Norman in one of the
doorways.

' The next morning's papers announced
that Robert Raymond had gone abroad
for an indefinite stay, and that he would
devote himself exclusively to Art.

THE SOONERS

By ALBERT A. POWE

OR five years Edward
Bates had struggled faith-
fully against the blizzards
and drouths of Nebraska
with the result of getting
him deeply in debt, so one
day he gave up the fight and sold out,
lock, stock and barrel, to an immigrant,
and after paying up found that he had
left a lot of valuable experience and a
few hundred dollars to show for five
years of toil and the five thousand dol-
lars he had originally paid for the ranch.
Scarce knowing what step to take next,
he mounted his race mare. Queen Bess,
the one animal be had retained, and
started to call on his sweetheart, the
daughter of a neighboring rancher some
ten miles distant. He had been engaged
to marry Margaret Johnson for four
years, and each year of that time they
had planned anew their wedding day and
the house they would build if the next
year's wheat crop was good. He was
twenty-seven, now and she twenty-four,
both old for young people, to be unmar-
ried in the West. She would have mar-
ried him anyway and helped him bear his
burdens as she had his disappointments,
but he would not permit the sacrifice on
her part. In the meantime, she had
taught school and had encouraged him by
her unwavering loyalty and cheerfulness.
As he rode along he lived over again the
four years of their engagement with its
troupe of disappointments, and decided
that he would release her from her prom-
ise to mar'rv him, and go off somewhere
and begin all over again, though the
mere thought of giving her up gave him
the blue devils. Arriving at her home,
he quickly sought her out and they had a
long heart-to-heart talk over the past and
the future.

"I have practically nothing left," he
said, "except my health and Queen Bess,
not much with which to make a new
start."

"You have something else, Edward,"

she replied, taking one of his hands in
hers and stroking it tenderly ; "you have
courage, and," here she looked up shyly,
"you have me." Her action and the
words that accompanied it were a revela-
tion to him, for this shy girl bad never
been demonstrative, their love had been
like the flowing of a deep stream with but
few waves to show what depths lay be-
neath, and that, to him at least, bad
seemed sufficient.

"I am not afraid to face the world
with you," she continued, "and T love you
better in your adversity than I ever did
before." He looked down into her eyes
just one moment and then he clasped her
in his arms and gave her a passionate
kiss. It was as though be had but now
discovered that he loved her.

"And to think," he exclaimed, "I came
here to-day to release you from our en-
gagement. \\ by," and here he kissed
her again, "I would not release you now
for a kingdom, and a crown of glory
thrown in."

"You talk like you really thought I
would let you go," she said, blushing like
a school girl. "Why, we have only be-
gun to love, and to fight for success."

"There, you spoke like a mighty ad-
miral," he exclaimed. "You are right;
we have only begun to fight, and yet I
was about to give up the ship. Since you
are henceforth commander of our craft,
I know you must have a plan of sailing;
what is it ?"

"Yes," she returned brightly, "I have
a plan, and I have been studying it out
ever since I heard von were going to sell.
You know there is to be an opening of
Indian lands to settlement down in Okla-
homa this fall, the Cherokee Strip they
call it. I sent to Washington for infor-
mation regarding it, and it must be a
wonderful country, where there r a~e
neither drouths nor blizzards, and mil-
lions of acres of rich lands to be had for
the faking. The opening is set for Sep-
tember 16th, and there is a homestead

ALBERT A. POWE.

5i

for every one with nerve enough to go in

and win it. 1 know you have plenty of
that, and I propose that you take Queen
Bess and go down there and make the
run. I just know you can win." Her
enthusiasm was infectious.

"You are right," he exclaimed, "you
always are, and we will win yet. With
a fair start I will back Queen Bess to win
the best farm down there, and then I am
coming back for the best and dearest
little woman in all Nebraska. I won't
have the means to provide much of a
home for you, but if I get the farm, I
shall come to claim you."

"If it is only a sod house, or even a
roomy dugout. I will share it and be hap-
py with you," she declared. The next
week was spent studying the plans of the
opening, and the maps of the new coun-
try, and it was decided that he would try
for a claim in the Eastern part where the
maps showed it was well watered and
timbered, and when he finally left, it was
with the full understanding that if he
was successful she should join him and
they would be married in "The Land of
the Fair God.''

September 16th, 1893. — How many
thousands there are in Oklahoma who
vividly recall that wonderful day, which
dawned bright and fair upon the vast
throng of eager and excited homeseekers
who waited with feverish impatience up-
on the border of the promised land for
the signal gun that would start the race
for homes. The story of the sights and
sounds of that memorable date is yet
fresh in the memory of thousands.

Early in the day Edward Bates, in
company with several others, all splendid-
ly mounted like himself, had set out for
a point to the east. One of the party was
a surveyor who was familiar with the
country, and under his leadership thev
proceeded until near the noon hour, when
they halted for a brief rest and refresh-
ment before the twelve o'clock start.

"Now boys," said their leader, "from
this on it is every fellow for himself. The
valley I have told you of lies just about
twenty miles due north of where we now
are ; you will know it because the stream
running through it is the first running

water we will cr,;nc to. We should be
able to make it in a little more than two
hours if our horses hold out, cross the
creek and put down your stake and take
the exact time. If there is anyone there
ahead of us, he will be a sooner unless his
horse is better than ours. There is but
one other point the valley can be reached
as near as from here, but there is a high
ridge to cross if you go that way, and we
should be able to beat any one who tries
that route ; scatter out well so we won't
get on each other's claims, and ride like
the devil. That is all I have to say, ex-
cept to get ready.'' As Edward Bates
fastened the girths to his light saddle he
patted his mare on the neck saying:
"Now, Bess, do your best, old girl ; this is
for a home and Margaret." Then they
all mounted and at the signal gun, the
vast horde of men, women and children
poured in a mad rush across the line. For
the first few miles he held his mare in,
knowing well what she would do in the
finish.. . At the end -of an hour there were
not more than a dozen of the starters in
sight ; half an hour further he could see
but three or four, and at the end of two
hours when he came to the stream he had
been watching for he did not see a sold.
He rode into the stream and up the oppo-
site bank and sprang from the back of his
panting mare to the ground exclaiming,
"We have it ! we have it !" He looked at
his watch ; it was one minute past two
o'clock. He had made better than ten
miles an hour over rawr land and had won.

He stooped and drove the wooden
stake he had brought into the ground and
as he arose he was startled to see a rough-
looking man standing not ten feet away,
and covering him with a six-shooter.

"Here, young feller, you just git; this
here's my claim, do you hear?'' and he
waved his gun threateningly. The young
man eyed the ruffian for a full minute
and decided that it was a bluff.

"Not so fast, my friend," he said cool-
ly, "where's your horse?"

"He's hitched down thar in the tim-
ber whar I got off, T had been here fer
ten minutes afore T seed vou cross the
crik."

"Is that so? You must have a fast

52

THE S0ONERS.

horse. I'd like to see what sort of an
animal it is that can heat my mare in
such a race ; let's go and have a look at
your steed. Put up your gun ; there are
more claims than this one, I guess." Re-
luctantly enough the fellow led the way
to where his horse stood hidden in a
clump of bushes. It was a sorry-looking
plug, and was not Mowing or sweating in
the least. With a significant gesture to-
wards his reeking mare, Bates now whip-
ped out his own gun and pointing it at
tlie owner of the plug said :

"I am sorry for you, stranger, but it's
you that will move on this time ; I have
ridden from tlie line over twenty miles
distant in two hours, and nearly killed
the swiftest mare in Nebraska to do it.
You are a sooner, and unless you are
looking for trouble you will clear out."
Fairly caught, the man looked foolish and
replied: "You hev called my hand this
time, pardner, an' I hain't lookin' fer no
trouble ; so I'll jest take yer advice an' do
the gittin' ; I know when to quit. I am
a sooner all right. I'staid here las' night.
My name's Mark Johnson, an' if you hap-
pen to need an extry witness when yer
come ter prove up, jest call on me an'
I'll swear on top of a stack of mountings
thet you war the fust man ter cross Har-
ricain crik, only don't give me awav. I'll
find another claim furder on, an' mavbe
the next feller won't hev sech a fast hoss
as yourn, so long," and mounting his
pony he galloped away. Soon afterwards
Bates discovered two men riding towards
him across the prairie and rightly sur-
mised that they were some of his com-
panions in the start, and rode to meet
them. They had both secured good
claims to the east down the creek, and
it was agreed that the three would be
witnesses for each other. One of them
was the surveyor.

"You have won the best quarter on the
creek," he said to Bates ; "the stream
cuts you in two, but that is all the better
for water; there isn't a better in Oklaho-
ma."

The rest of the day was spent in look-
ing up the numbers of their clain* , and
the following morning the three set out
leisurely for the land office at Terry to

make their filings, but it was several days
hefore he reached his turn at the filing
booth. When he handed in his name and
the numbers of the land, the filing clerk-
informed him that that quarter had al-
ready been filed upon. For a moment he
was speechless, and then managed to
inquire who had made the filing. The
clerk obligingly looked at the record, and
informed him that the name of the first
claimant was M. R. Johnson. "It's that
damned sooner I found down there," he
exclaimed angrily, "I will file too, and
settle with him later," and with his filing-
papers he went at once to a lawyer and
stating his case employed him to institute
contest proceedings at once.

"If I find that measly scoundrel on my
claim when I get back to it, there is going
to be trouble outside the courts," he de-
clared, for the thought that the man had
played him a low trick made him feel
particularly ugly. He bought lumber
and started at once for his claim with
men and teams to go to work improving
it, but there had been considerable delay
before he reached it again, but he was
more than astounded to find that a log-
cabin had been erected on the south side
of the creek on his claim and a couple of
sturdy boys were at work clearing and
breaking a plot of ground at the edge of
the timber. The sight aroused his anger
afresh at the sooner, and grasping his
gun he spurred his mare up to the cabin
door in which stood a large raw-boned
woman with red hair.

"Where's your husband ?' he demand-
ed roughly, for he was in no polite mdod.
"Haven't got any," she replied, "been
a widow more'n ten years."

"Where's the man then, who has filed
on this land ?"

"Didn't know any man had filed on it,"
was the cool answer as she squared her-
self in the doorway.

"What is your name?" lie next de-
manded J1"

"None o' your business," she snapped
hack. "What do you mean, stranger, by
talkin' that way to me, I want to know.
If I am a woman, I am able to take care
of myself."

"I mean, madam, that a damned soon-

Here, young feller, you just git; this here's my claim, do you hear?

54

THE SOONERS.

er named Johnson has filed on my claim
and I want to see him jnst about two min-
utes or less."

"'Well, you are barkin' up the wrong
tree, Mister, an' this here claim ain't been
soonered unless you done it yourself ;
now, you just clear out, will you?" Bates
was completely baffled, and scarcely knew
what to say to this determined looking
woman ; he was not' looking for trouble
in petticoats.

"Very well, madam," he replied, "I am
going to build on the north side of the
creek and you can just tell that scoun-
drel that I will shoot him on sight if I
catch him on this claim again," and he
rode back to where the wagons were
awaiting him, feeling sore clear through,
for he had written his Nebraska sweet-
heart of his successful run, and given her
a glowing description of their future
home, and now he seemed to see things
slipping away from his grasp again, and
he thought seriously for a little while of
throwing it up and looking for another
location, for since coming to Oklahoma
he had learned what a costly and endless
thing a land contest was likely to be, and
then he recalled the day she had said,
"Why, we have only begun to fight,"'
and the look with which she had said it,
and he declared to himself that he would
hold on if he had to fight all the sooners
in the strip. Selecting a knoll near the
tiipber line he went to work, and was
promptly served notice in person by the
widow to desist, and she called on his
hired men to witness that she had given
such notice, and took down their names
and addresses in a most business-like
manner. In less than a week he had
finished a rude box house and moved in.
Then with his remaining- money he
bought a team and plows and commenced
work in earnest. For several weeks he
was kept busy, but he was ever on the
lookout for the sooner, Johnson, and was
puzzled that he did not show up. "He is
afraid, T guess," he said, "for he knows
what he will get when we meet." One
day when he had ridden some ten miles
north looking for his mules which had
strayed off one night, he came upon a
cabin and clearing in the timber,' and

rode up to make some inquiry, and to his
surprise the man who came out to an-
swer his halloo ! was none other than
the sooner Johnson. The sight quickly
aroused all his anger against the man
again, and he sprang to the ground ex-
claiming, "Now, you scoundrel, I've
found you again, and we will settle this
thing right now. What did you mean by
filing on my claim ?" The man backed
awav from the threatening approach of
his visitor, surprise plainly depicted on
his unshaven countenance.

"Come now, pard," he exclaimed, "do
vou want this claim, too? I thort one
wuz all you could hold." Bates was
astounded.

"Didn't you go to Perry and file on
my claim the day after I run you off of
it?" he demanded.

"Not as I knows on," was the reply.
"I didn't go to Perry ontil more'n a wcek
atter that, not ontil I war shore no one
else war atter this claim. Hit ain't as
good as yourn, but hit ain't so bad."

"Well. I owe you an apology," said
Bates, offering his hand in token, "some
one giving the name of M. R. Johnson
beat me to the filing office, and I just
supposed it was you. and when I got
back to my claim I found a cabin built on
the south side of the creek and a woman
and two boys occupying it, and they are
there yet. I thought it was your wife
and I guess I talked rough to her at first,
for I was pretty mad."

"If hit had been my wife, pardner, an'
you hed talked rough to her, you'd a
hearn suthin' drap, ur else she's changed
moutily sence I seed her last, nigh outer
ten year ago. She warn't a woman ter
take no foolishness, Mag warn't, I kin
tell yer."

"Where is your wife now?" Bates was
moved to ask.

"Don't know," I got ketched moon-
shinin' by the revenu's back in the moun-
tings uv Tennessee and' had ter hike,
been afeard ter go back ur ter write ever
sence. Thar was two likely boys, too, I'd
a liked ter a seen 'em agin, but Mag war
able ter take keer of 'em, I reckon; she
war a powerful woman ter manage. Mag
wuz. What did ver sav the woman's

ALBERT A. POWE.

55

name wtiz thet's on yer claim?" "T didn't
say; she wouldn't tell me when I asked
that day, and I have never inquired
since."

"Wall, my guess is thet her name's
Johnson, an' she's the one that done the
soonerin' in your case, but I kin witness
you wuz thar fust."

When Edward Rates returned to his
claim that night he was more puzzled
what to do than ever. He went over to
see the widow and begun by apologizing
for his former rudeness, and ended by
offering to buy her off rather than go into
a contest with her for the claim, but she
refused all his overtures, and it was with
a heavy heart he sat down to write to
his sweetheart that their cake was about
to become dough again. "I have dis-
covered that my contestant is a woman,"
he wrote, "and a very determined one,
who looks like she could whip her weight
in wild cats and enjoy doing it ; I have
tried to buy her off, but she won't sell ;
so there is nothing left for me to do but
to fight it through the courts ; but I am
desperately afraid that it is going to de-
lay our marriage once more, though we
will win in' the end, for I can prove by
three good witnesses that I beat her to
it." From his lawyer he learned that his
case would be heard on the 20th of De-
cember, and he put in the intervening
time plowing and fencing, time equally
well employed by the widow and her boys
on the other side of the creek, so that
when the time of the trial arrived there
were two fair sized farms broke out on
the claim already for the spring planting.
Arriving in Perry with his witnesses the
day before the trial, the young man re-
paired to a hotel and there to his amaze-
ment he found that Margaret Johnson
had arrived that morning. "How good
of you to come,'- he exclaimed after the
first greetings were ove-r ; "but you have
a lot of confidence in the ultimate success
of our fight to take such a trip, sweet-
heart."

"Well, Edward, of course we are going
to win and I wanted to be in at the finish,
but T had a double motive for coming. I
have a confession to make. As the time
for the opening of the strip approached, T
decided that two chances were better than

niie and determined to come down here
and make the run, too, without letting
von know anything about it. I knew you
would feel worried if I told you. Father
came with me and we brought Wild Bill
along for me to ride. You know he was
never beaten in a race until you did it
with Queen Bess. A man we met who
knew the country well told us of a lovely
valley and a short way to get to it, and
T went there with him, made the run and
located a fine claim. I hurried back to
Perry where Father was waiting for me
and filed, and we left for home that night.
Father had found a family with a good
team to go on the place and hold it for
me, and when I got home I sent them
some of the money I have been saving
from my schools to improve it. Then I
got a notice of a contest. I just know
my contestant is a sooner, for I rode the
twenty miles to my claim on a dead run
and Wild Bill hasn't gotten over it yet,
but I made it in a few minutes less than
two hours. Of course, I couldn't stav
there alone all night, and so I started
right back to the line in a little while,
but any person who beat me is bound to
have flown there or gone in before noon.
When T received notice that I was con-
tested T engaged a lawyer to fight it, and
it's funny, but my case is set for the same
date as yours. Of course, we both can't
lose, so I was safe in coming anyway."

"You are a brave little woman," he
said, giving her a be^r-like hug, "and
we are going to win, but I would just
like to see the fellow who has had the
temerity to go up against such a combi-
nation as you and Wild Bill. I will bet
my claim he is a sooner."

"That is what I believe, and what we
will contend ; T can prove that T was
there before two o'clock."

"Of course he was a sooner," he ex-
claimed ; "but to-morrow will decide, and
we will win I am sure of it.

"Edward," she said after a thoughtful
pause, "doesn't it seem peculiar that there
should be so many Johnsons mixed up in
our contests? My name is Johnson —

"It won't be much longer," he inter-
rupted, "Well, it is now, any way, then
your contestant is named Johnson, and
your sooner witness is named Johnson,

&

TTTK SOONER S.

and the people who have been taking care
of my claim arc named Johnson. Do
you suppose all the Johnsons in the coun-
try came to Oklahoma?"

"It seems that a good many of them
did, at any rate," he replied, "but there
are many peculiar things in Oklahoma, as
you will soon learn."

Early on the morning of the trial he
was out, and the first person he met was
Mark Johnson.

"Say, pardner," he exclaimed boister-
ously, "you've won already, an' so have
I. 1 met the widder last night ; her ah'
the kids put up at the same camp house
I did, an' gosh Moses ! she hain't no wid-
der at all an' I ain't no widderwer."

"You don't mean to tell me that you
have courted the widow and married her
already, do you ? Why, I've been trying
to get married for four years."

"Yep, that I have," he answered ; "but
it was more'n fifteen year ago back in
Tennessee, an' both uv them kids air
mine, an' say, ain't they fine ones an' ain't
she a daisy, though ?"

'"You can hardly expect me to share
either your enthusiasm or your good
opinion of your family, since it is your
wife this time instead of you who is try-
ing to sooner me out of my claim," he
replied drily. "Does your wife share
your delight at having found you again ?"
The sooner grinned sheepishly, "Wall,
she didn't appear ter be enny too much
overjoyed, an' she didn't shed enny tears
at the sight uv me," he replied, "but she
did show some sort o' intrust by inquirin'
if T wuz the same wuthless cuss I used
ter be back in Tennessee. But she'll come
round." he continued, brightening up,
"when she sees what a fine claim I've
got fer her an the boys. You see, I know
Mag ; she's allers got an eve out ter the
main chanst ; she'll come round, specially
when she larns that she can't hold no
homestead, cause she hain't the head o'
the fam'ly, see' 'She can't contest you:
but don't you tell her T am a sooner. She
might lose confidence in me."

Tt was with a light heart after this that
he sought his lawyer and informed him
of the predicament of his contestant. The
case would be dismissed as soon as the

facts were presented to the court, and
before the appointed hour he visited the
clerk's office and secured another paper
he was sure would be needed. He did
not meet his sweetheart until they ap-
peared in court, and they took a seat to-
gether to await developments. In a few
minutes the Judge appeared, and the case
of Bates vs. Johnson was called and his
attorney arose and presented his plead-
ings, which had been hastily amended.
The Judge glanced them over, "it would
seem," he said, "that the plaintiff in this
cause, Edward Bates, proposes to prove
that the defendant is a married woman
whose husband is still living, and as such
she can not file on a homestead. The
ground is well taken, and if proven, not
being a femme sole the defendant, Mar-
garet R. Johnson, will not be" — but he
got no further, for the attorney for the
defense, the plaintiff and the defendant,
her face crimson with excitement, were
all on their feet at the same moment.
"Your Honor, there is some mistake," the
attorney was saying, "my client is a
young unmarried woman," but he got no
further, for Edward Bates had stepped
to the bar and was whispering to the
Judge, who looked astounded as a Judge
well could, but nodded his head as he took
the paper that was handed to him. Then
mutual explanations were made and upon
motion of the plaintiff's attorney the
cause was dismissed at the cost of the
plaintiff. When the proper entry had
been made which settled for good the
right of Margaret R. Johnson to the land
in question, the plaintiff who had been
doing some rapid talking to the defen-
dant, arose and approached the bench
with her. "Your Honor," he said, "I have
vowed that I was going to have that
claim, and that I was going to eat Christ-
mas dinner on it with my wife ; it now
rests with you to help me make good."
"Since this marriage license which you
have handed me seems to be about the
only sane thing connected with this
cause," he said, "I will perform the cere-
mony if you can prove to me that the de-
fendant is not already a married woman
as your pleadings allege, but I would like
very much to know which one of you was
the sooner."

CURIOUS BOAT GARDENS OF TAHITI

By LILLIAN O'CONNELL

OURTEEX days of idle.
happy sea-life, in sunny
weather, on a luxurious
steamer : then, on the fif-
teenth, we voyagers from
San Francisco sighted Ta-
hiti, the Garden of the Tropics.

Tahiti, largest of the Society Islands,
is volcanic. Crossed on all sides by
mountains, in the island's center, these
heights divide, and from their midst
rises a bare crown-shaped rock, "The
Diadem,"' whose series of points seem to
pierce the sky.

Everywhere we saw strange forms of
beauty, fantastic columns of vine-draped
lock; vividly green jungles, deep valleys
lying in the shadow of majestic moun-
tains, and, scattered among cocoanut-
palm and breadfruit forests, native vil-
lages, often separated by Chinese gardens
laid out with quaintly mathematical ac-
curacy.

Below the Diadem, the picturesque
town of Papeete lies in a semi-circle
around the Tahitian harbor. The great
sight of Papeete is its gardens, which
present a novel effect to visitors, because
they are neither on the ground, nor in the
air ! Yet every resident, native and for-
eign, cultivates a garden.

Tahitian ground is covered with a long
coarse grass (a tropical species of Con-
volvulus) which absorbs all the nourish-
ment of the soil, and cannot be killed ;
therefore, every garden must be planted
either in big round wash tubs, painted
green, or in long rowboats, whose seats
have been removed. Rich garden owners
possess both boats and tubs.

Three of these boat gardens were es-
pecially curious ; one beside a native
dwelling; one in front of a foreign con-
sul's house ; and one before our own
hotel.

*In the native's yard stood two towers
of tubs, one on each side a path of tan-
gled greenery, leading to the hut's door.
On top of two handleless tubs placed on
. the ground upside down, oae upon the

other, was a third, right side up, filled
w ith earth.

From this earth, in the middle of the
tub rose a life-like imitation of a Bird-of-
Paradise, made of the flowers of Tropi-
cal lianas (creepers). The body was
formed of an odd brown blossom (name
unknown), the tail of a copper-green
liana, and the head and throat of a
bright blue clitoria. This bird of blos-
soms cocked at the world an eye of the
brilliant pink antigonon, the bill was a
bit of canary-colored allamanda, and
the tail's side-plumes were crimson.
From the bird's claws, the lianas'
foliage strayed to the edges of the
tub, and trailed down its sides to the
ground.

A missionary had cut and trained the
flowers to grow upward into the bird-
shape for the native, and had also started
for him, the specimens of the Tahitian
orchid (the Catasetum) growing in the
opposite tub tower.

To look into the topmost tub of this
trio was to see many blossoms of such
weird and grotesque forms, one seemed
gazing into a miniature world of kanga-
roos, goblins, butterflies, and elves ! Each
orchid stood slightly inclined to either
side, with the labellum downward, and
the yawning cavity in the great fringed
labeilum, one antenna projecting, the
other hanging down, gave the flowers
a strange, lurid, almost reptilian aspect.

Indeed, when winds tossed those or-
chids, spotted with dull copper and fiery
orange, in a wild dance through the air,
it looked a veritable ball of festive ser-
pents !

Under the shading breadfruit and
lacebark trees of the foreign consul's
garden, many boats made a fleet of flow-
ers. Every boat was filled with rich soil,
and painted either white or bright blue;
no other color used.

In a white boat those flower folk, the
begonias, "spread all sail" of rose, violet,
white ; many in scarlet robes held cups

58

CURIOUS BOAT GARDENS OF TAHITI.

of i^old ; others again, were stars of pink
and cream.

In a blue boat, standard geraniums re-
sembled elfin torches ablaze with bloom,
and over the edges of another blue boat,
dropped fairy fountains of fuchsias, sal-
mon and white, crimson and cream, pur-
ple and rose.

But the consul's feat of gardening was
in an unusually long, wide, rowboat,
somewhat apart from the others. This
he called his "Card-Table," for an evi-
dent reason : Dark-green moss entirely
covered the outside of this boat. With-
in, the boat was marked off into four di-
visions by a ribbon between each of moss.
In each division, a small earth-bed was
dug in the shape of one of each of the
four suits of cards, and in each grew
flowers of the appropriate color.

Thus in the diamond-shaped bed, red
tulips blazed. Flowers made of flame,
how beautiful looked their crimson bars
in that trim bed, with their likeness in
crimson bars of the tropic morning above
them, while great globes of dew glisten-
ed in their transparent cups !

In the club-shaped bed grew pansies,
so darkly purple, that even in tropical
sunshine, they looked black. Black, yet
not gloomy, for those flower-faces were
most expressive ; laughing, roguish,
sharp, shrewd, vivacious, surprised, wor-
ried, saucy! One group the consul fan-
cifully called his card-players, and there
we saw one pansy frowning, one intent,
one anxious, and one mischievously tri-
umphant. The variegations on the petals
were really remarkable.

The heart-shaped bed held scarlet ger-
aniums, each with a dazzling head of
brilliant blossoms, and elegantly cut
leaves, marked with a dark line across
each. Fairly they unfolded, leaf after
leaf, like ships crowding sail, as day by
da\ the tropic breezes freshened.

That rare flower, the black rose, grew
in the spade-shaped bed, and among
these flowers we saw an aphide party.
The purple-black petals of each rose
were set off by the bright-hued insects.
Some were dressed in bronze, others in
white, green, mother-of-pearl, or lemon-
color, and all were busy injuring the
blossoms,

Many strange insects hummed about
the garden. Marvellous butterflies float-
ed sensuously from flower to flower. A
lizard, like a streak of pale-green fire,
darted from the shadow of one boat to
another. Shining on a tree-trunk tar
above the ground, was what seemed a
big orange and blue flower. Brought
down, it proved to be a spider's nest : the
sun's rays amid the silken threads had
dyed it those colors. Tahitian spiders
are very large, and their silken dwellings
are marvels of beauty.

Our hotel faced the sea, so near it, that
spray often fell on the veranda, between
which and the sea lay a garden. Palms,
te-ara, and champak trees stood about.

Each te-ara trunk, short and thick,
half-wav from the ground, branched to
a low wide crown of absolutely leafless
boughs. The trunk and boughs were
buff-color, the masses of flowers borne
on the tree-top, star-shaped, and a bril-
liant waxy white. The flowers of the
Champak trees were wonderful, trumpet -
shaped and creamv, yellow inside, streak-
ed with pink outside, and fragrant as a
distillery of Paradise !

Beneath these trees, several red row-
boats were so placed as to form one large
boat. In this was a geometric flower
garden, all the beds laid out in exact
shapes, with a certain reference to each
other, the whole forming a pattern of
rainbow-hued embroidery upon their soil.
Each bed was filled with a single color,
and a single kind of flower of the most
brilliant tropical hues.

Our hotel-keeper, a truly pious, if
slightlv eccentric man, showed us what
he called his "Holy Boat." Surrounded
by graceful, dainty ferns, like vestal veils
of Dryads, lay a white rowboat, filled
with earth, separated into four divisions
by lines of those tiny sage-green cacti,
with fuzzv grey-white hairs all over
them, which resemble the round heads of
aged dwarfs !

Everv flower here was white, and in
each bed the plants took the forms of re-
ligious symbols. Thus, in the first divis-
ion was a Dove made of white roses; in
the second, a Lamb of white gloxinias :
in the third, a Cup of white gardenias;

I'.K\T WlNSLOW

50

and in the fourth, a Cross of white native
lilies.

J 11 another part of the garden were,
that handsome horror of the vegetable

world, the African Stapelia (imported)
with its odious scent, and the egg plant.
also imported. This was a short fleshy
plant on whose broad dark-red leaves lay
what really looked like hard-boiled eggs,
whose shells had been removed.

As evening fell, the opal ocean, delicate
in all its lines, sent in a single long-sweep-
ing Nile-green wave to break upon the
curving pearl-pink shore of Tahiti, Isle
of Venus. Swiftly the heavens deepened

into a luminous dark-blue, aild the con-
stellations all shone out at once, each
great hod\', round, distinct, suspended
in space. In the vivid starlight, all the
foliage was illumined by interwoven
dances in air of radiant fireflies who held
high revel between the shining flowers,
and strange foreign trees, while over all
the (piaint boat-gardens of lovely Pa-
peete, the evening wind wafted dreamy
lemon fragrance, the ardent perfume of
roses, and the rich scent of Champak
blossoms.

So night falls upon the Garden of
Polvnesia.

AN ELECTRIC SELL

By BEN WlNSLOW

)Y janitor was in a very
communicative mood the
other evening and. while
I was waiting in the hall
for that heavy downpour
of rain to let up a bit, he
told me a little incident in his career
that struck me as being rather good evi-
dence of the truth of that old expression
of the street, "there's a sucker born ev-
ery minute." I will give it to you about
in his own language, and you can draw
\our own conclusions. I will say, how-
ever, that this janitor (and, perhaps, be
is an exception) has always impressed
me as being a truthful man. You can
draw your own conclusions as to this
also. Leaving out the usual prelimina-
ries, his story was about as follows :

"You know, we janitors are supposed
to have unlimited knowledge of past and
some inkling of the future movements of
our tenants, but I tripped up badly on
the young man who occupied the office
three doors below yours not very long
ago.

"This young- man's name was Jen-
kins, Theopholis Jenkins. I don't know
where he came from, but be was the most

plausible talker I ever listened to. He
was an inventor, so he said, but by pre-
vious occupation he was an insurance
solicitor ; that might account for his gift
of gab. I didn't pay much attention to
him at first ; not until about the second
day after he moved in. I was cleaning
up in the next room which bad just been
vacated, and I noticed that he had a num-
ber of callers in his office. You know,
the transoms between the rooms here are
— but never mind about that.

"He had callers all right, and that's no
mistake ; real estate brokers, grocers, dry
goods dealers and bank presidents. Such
men as old man — but I won't mention
names. Anyway, he had all sorts of
business men ; about twenty-five of them
standing around in one end of the room.

" 'Now, gentlemen,' he savs, 'just a
few words of introduction before I be-
gin the demonstration of my new inven-
tion. For the past ten years I have
been working on a problem in electricity ;
a problem which, if solved, will com-
pletely revolutionize the world. As you
probablv know, there are two kinds of
electricity ; that which is generated in
the dvnamo and that which comes from

6o

AN ELECTRIC SELL.

the chemical cells — the dry battery, for
example. Of the two forms the latter
is the cheaper, hut heretofore, it has been
impossible to generate enough current
by chemical action to make the dry bat-
tery of much practical use. This is the
problem I have solved. Startling as it
may seem, I have succeeded in making a
dry cell that will produce the same work
as the big machines in your electric
plant. Yet this dry cell need not be
any bigger than a lead pencil.'

" 'In order that you may be convinced
that there is no deception in this thing,
I have insulated the table by putting
glass paper weights under the legs. This
w ill prevent any electrical connection
with the floor ; and, as you can plainly
see, there are no wires running from
above to the table. I will begin at the
very beginning and build my dry cell
right before your eyes."

"He took a piece of pasteboard mail-
ing tube, about five inches long, and
pushed a small copper disk down into it,
which divided it into two parts. Then
he mixed up some white sand with what
he called an ammonia solution, and filled
up both ends of the tube with the paste,
next he took two pieces of bare copper
wire and pushed one piece down into the
sand at one end of the tube, and one
piece in the other end.

" 'This,' he said, 'completes the cell
with the exception of charging it.'

"He produced two small bottles ; one
filled with a red colored liquid, the oth-
er with a green liquid.

" 'The contents of these bottles,' he
went on, 'must remain a secret, but I
will say that the cost of the liquid is not
more than ten cents a gallon for both.'

"He put two drops of the red stuff in
one end of the tube and a drop of the
green in the other end.

" 'This,' he says, 'charges the battery.
Now, I will show you what it will do.'

"He connected the wires up to an
electric lamp he had screwed on the
table, and turned the key. Sure enough
the lamp burned just as steady as you
please. Then he connected up a half
a dozen lamps and made them burn just
the same. Next he hooked his battery

up to an electric fan and sent it spin-
ning at a great rate. Then he started
in to explain the many advantages of his
battery.

'"One cell tucked away under the seat
of a street car, would run that car a
whole year, and there would be no need
of slots, conductor rails and expensive
things of that sort. One cell, stuffed
in the iron pole supporting the electric
lights, would keep them going a year or
more. A cell, setting innocent like on
the shelf on a closet, would light a whole
house, no matter how big or how many
rooms it had. It would do away with
electric light wires outside of buildings
and every one, rich or poor, could have
their house lighted by electricity. In a
place like the Baldwin locomotive works,
one cell would supply all the current
needed by all the motors in the plant.
And another thing, the current furnish-
ed by his battery was absolutely harm-
less. He proved this by cutting one of
the wires and holding an end in each
hand. The lights burned just the
same ; the current, so he said, passing
through his body.

"That wound up his demonstration,
then he got down to business. These cells
could be made for eight cents each, and
they would sell readily for twenty-five
dollars each. Ten thousand dollars
would start a factory big enough to earn
several hundred thousand dollars a year.
He said that he, like all other great in-
ventors, was poor. His object in dem-
onstrating his invention was to raise
the money with which to build the fac-
tory, and this was his proposition. He
had capitalized the company at fifty thou-
sand dollars, and divided it into one
thousand shares of fifty dollars each. He
would sell one hundred of these shares,
which would make enough to get a good
start. You should have' heard the way
he talked thousands. Well, that gath-
ering of conservative business men was
up in a minute clamoring for shares. It
wasn't many minutes before he had
checks for the five thousand, and he was
busy for the next half hour filling out
stock certificates. The last T saw of
him he was s:oing to the bank to get his

EMILY GRANT HUTCHTNGS.

61

checks cashed. That was a month ago,
and he hasn't conic back yet;

"Now did he work the fan and lights
with his battery? He didn't work them
with his battery. Two of the glass pa-
per-weights had holes through them,
and two small iron rods in the table legs
went through these holes and connected
with some wires he had run in under
the Hoor. The lamps and the fan were
connected with the city wires through
these rods, and some wires running

through the. table legs. He had a press
button under the rug back of the table
that he pressed with his foot when he
wanted the current on. His electric
cell— sell, I call it, — didn't generate any-
thing but a lot of mess that I had to clean
up. Of course the conservative busi-
ness men who bit were wild when they
learned that the bubble had busted, but
Mr. Jenkins was not to be found, and
another thing;, they wasn't anxious to
have the public get onto the fact that
thev had been such, easy marks.

THE SACRED ENDUA OF AFRICA

By EMILY GRANT HUTCHINGS

E1MONG the tribes of West-
ern Africa, there is one
object to which greater
reverence is accorded than
to the dithering, veno-
mous snakes of the tem-
ples, and that one is the Endua, the most
uncanny of flowers. The blossom is
beautiful, in a creepy, almost supernatu-
ral sort of way, with its silken hairs of
purplish brown that wave incessantly, a
lure for the insects on which it feeds. It
is the holiest thing in all the Dahomy
region, and the penalty for injuring a
plant of it or plucking a blossom is al-
most too horrible to relate.

When the British slave trade on the
west coast was at its height, a young
man went out from London to take a
position as clerk in an alleged sugar fac-
tory. The factory was still there ; but
there was a far more lucrative business
than that of making and exporting su-
gar. The man at the head of the slave
station had ingratiated himself with the
authorities by learning and deferring to
all their barbarous customs and supersti-
tions, no less than by marrying a daugh-
ter of each chief who threatened trouble.
There he lived in the midst of his
black harem, with no wish to return to

England and civilization. The chief
clerk, knowing nothing about the coun-
try except that it was savage, and that
it offered him an opportunity to earn far
more than he could ever hope to earn in
London, found a wealth of interest in
the snake-infested forests surrounding
the trading post. He had a room over
a part of the old factory and a Kroo boy
waited upon him.

During one of his tramps in the for-
est, he espied the wonderful Endua as it
hung pendant from the trunk of a tree,
its weird blossoms vibrating with almost
intelligent irregularity of action as the
swarms of insects darted through the
heavy, hot atmosphere. Here was an
interesting insect catcher. The clerk
decided that he would make use of a few
in his bedroom. Even the terror in
the Kroo boy's face did not serve to de-
ter him, as he carefully removed several
plants and put them in his sack.

A few days later his employer had oc-
casion to visit him in his room. The
clerk had done something that was caus-
ing dark mutterings among the priests
and'dignitaries, had violated some sacred
custom. He must find out what it was.
He had scarcely entered the room when

62

The sacrkdendua oe1 Africa.

lie realized, all too well, what had caused
the wrath of the natives.

"My God, man, your life isn't worth
a farthing," he muttered, when he saw
the row of waving blossoms. "Didn't you
have any better sense than to pick those
things?''

"Are they as poisonous as that?" the
young man gasped.

"I wish it were nothing worse than
poison," his employer groaned. "You
have violated the most sacred thing in
all this diabolical country. I can't save
you if they have found you out. And
from the things that have been going oh
the past two days, I am inclined to think
they know you have gathered the En-
dua. What is that ?" He stepped to the
window. "Pray to your God, if you
have one," he cried. 'Til have to get
out of here. I can't sacrifice my life on
•account of your folly. Hide those ac-
cursed things before the priests come
up. I'll do this much for you," and he
threw a rope of plaited palm leaves about
the terrified clerk's neck. "No one but
the head priest can remove that, and as
long as your wear it, the devils daren't
touch you.' <>

The sight which met the young man's
eyes as he looked from the window was
one calculated to inspire terror. Down
the road came the priests and fetish-
men, dancing, leaping, whirling to the
fantastic measure of the drum-beats.
The costumes and ornaments of the men
added to the horror of the procession.
The fetish-men were distinguished from
the others in that they had one-half of
the head shaven clean while from the
other side the thick hair bristled out. A
band about the temples supported two
small silver horns.

The priests wore many-colored shirts,
well covered with strands of beads in-
terspersed with human teeth and small
human bones. Their faces were dec-
orated with black and red paint, and on
the front of their leather aprons were
crude drawings of snakes, skulls and
demons. One of the Vokhimen pranc-
ed np the stairs, direct to where the wav-
ing Endua blossoms hung from the raf-
ters of the room, strung them along an

iron pole, and commanded the clerk to
follow him. It was the rope of palm
leaves that prevented him from being
torn to pieces by the howling mob.

In the interim, his employer was do-
ing for him what he could. He had ap-
pealed to the Viceroy, and had hastily as-
sembled all the white men in the settle-
ment. Before these reached the crowd
of yelling, dancing priests and natives,
the beginning of the clerk's sentence had
been pronounced. The head priest had
removed the charm from his neck and
had hissed in his ear, "The snake calls."
Instantly he was hustled over to the
low stone temple where the sacred snakes
were kept. As he stood alone in the
center of the room, the Vokhimen danc-
ing, posturing and singing their fiend-
ish sacrificial' songs outside, he thought
the snakes had been removed. He had
often seen them, wallowing over each
other on the floor of the temple. Sud-
denly he heard an insidious hissing from
the rafters above his head. There they
were, the horrible creatures, coiled along
the top of the stone wall, twined about
the pillars, depending from the timbers
of the roof, all their darting tongues di-
rected toward him.

With a yell of horror, he leaped sheer
across the threshold, falling at the feLjt of
the head priest. The action was pro-
pitious. The snakes had begged for
mercy ! At that moment the Viceroy also
appeared to plead, cajole, threaten. At
last it was decided that the clerk should
have the lightest sentence that could be
imposed. This was the penalty for kill-
ing a snake by accident. While the
upper priests went through their blood-
curdling pantomime, the servants dug a
pit and filled it with reeds.

At the last moment, the slave trader
whispered in his clerk's ear, "There is
water very near the pit, to the soufh.
Run that way instead of going toward
the river." It was that information
that saved his life. The Vokhimen had
counted, for their prospective sport, on
the victim's ignorance of this little pool.

He was stripped of his clothing, plac-
ed in the pit and the reeds were ignited.
He was then commanded to run for wa-

EMILY GRANT HUTCHINGS.

63

ter. This command he was not slow in
obeying, for the flames leaped up all
around him. As he ran, the Yokhimen
pursued him, beating him with staves
and hacking at him with knives. For-
tunately he had only a little distance to
run, and the priests were all on the side
of the pit nearest the river.

When he leaped into the saving wa-
ters of the pool, he had only a few bruis-
es about the shoulders, a few blisters on
his feet. The tormentors were filled with
rage when they realized that they had
been cheated of their favorite amuse-
ment. They had been compelled to

mitigate the punishment, but they had
located the pit with reference to the
river, not the little pool, counting on a
long chase, which must have ended in
death for the offender.

As he came up out of the water, the
priests howled with disappointment, but
the incident was closed. The young
Englishman must be a favorite of some
powerful deity, to have been twice so
miraculously rescued. They could not
again lay hands on him for that offense.
It is safe to add that they never had a
second opportunity. He was satisfied
to gather no more Endua plants.

A MATCH WITH THE MOON

Weary already, weary miles to-night
I walked for bed ; and so to get some

ease ;
I dogged the flying moon with similes,
.And like a wisp she doubled on my sight
In ponds ; and caught in tree-tops like a
kite ;
And in a globe of film all vaporish
Swam full-faced like a silly, silver fish ;—
Last like a bubble shot the welkins height.
Where my road turned, and got behind
me, and sent
Mv wizened shadow craning round at me,
And jeered, 'So, step the measure — one,

two, three !
And if I faced on her, looked innocent.
But just at parting, half-way down a dell,
She kissed me for good night. So you'll
not tell.

— Rossetti.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW IN CANADA

By HERBERT VANDERHOOF

EM IND Canadians that
they are a feeble folk nu-
merically, suggest that
they, on that account,
sing small and be meek,
and then prepare for their
answer. The Canadian thus addressed
will probably lay down his plow handle,
his pick or his pen, or whatever is that
moment claiming his energies, and har-
angue you in something like this wise :

"Canada is to-day on the verge of the
most remarkable commercial and agricul-
tural development known in history.
Within sixty years our population will
be sixty millions. For years we lost our
population to the United States, the rush
and bustle and money-making opportuni-
ties there drew away from us the flower
of our young manhood, but that tide has
turned. It is now running the other
way. The farm lands of the United
States are practically filled, and neither
in industrial nor agricultural pursuits is
it possible for a man to obtain so good a
living in the States as in the Dominion."
You try to interpolate a modest word,
but he is just getting worked up to his
subject.

"Where, sir, I would ask you, is the
overflow of the British Isles — and of
Continental Europe — to go to, except
Canada? Australia? Isn't Australia,
except for its rim of arable land, for the

Canadian Pacific Railway Company's irrigation
project, Calgary, Canada,

most part a desert ? Farming there is
made possible only by vast and expensive
schemes of irrigation. Africa? Why,
man alive, every immigration and land
office in Canada is being besieged by time-
expired British soldiers who served in
the Boer war, and who know South
Africa like a book. It wasn't good
enough for them. They will tell you
that in the veldt the game is not worth
the candle. It was a black country to
begin with, and the influx of Chinese to
work the mines of the Rand has added
a yellow streak to it. Yellow and black
makes a good hornet, but it's a mighty
bad mixture when it comes to men. No
land in the world is rich enough to look
pretty when vou cover it over with black,
vellow and white stripes of humanity,
especially if you are the white stripe. In-
dia is overrun. What is there left but
Canada ? And Canada is good enough
for most, good enough and big enough.
Where in the world except in the Domin-
ion can you find millions of acres of un-
occupied land to which farmers can go
and make good ?"

You endeavor to interrupt, to check
the flow.

"You have a barren country, unde-
veloped, almost unexplored," you have
the hardihood to tell him. "If your coun-
try were not barren of opportunities it
would not have begun the twentieth cen-
tury with fewer people than the United
States sheltered at the beginning of the
nineteenth century."

He comes back at vou hard.

"Our opportunities are beginning to be
known," he declares. "There you have
the answer. Take Calgary, for in-
stance. Yes, take all of Southern Al-
berta. Out there at the edge of the wheat
belt they never dreamed what the future
held for them. Yet they grew fat and
prospered with less than half of the rea-
son for prospering that they now have.
Southern Alberta was known as a stock
country. So persistently was the fact

Indian tom-tom drummers at a tea dance.

that this part of the world was the great-
est ranching country on the continent
drummed into the head of the incoming
settler, that neither old resident nor new-
come immigrant thought of other chan-
nels of development. But the time of
awakening came. The history of the
development of winter wheat-growing in
Southern and Central Alberta reads like
a fairy tale. For two decades small
areas here and there had season after
season successfully produced winter
wheat. Alert Americans, transplanted in-
to Canada, were the first to read the
signs of the times. In their own country
most of them had had some previous
experience with winter wheat, but were
doubtful of the possibility of growing
it north of the forty-ninth parallel. Then
came thrifty Mormons taking up settle-
ments south of Lethbridge, and they
were the first to make their faith visible.
The Mormons got enormous yields of
winter wheat. And then the old-timers
woke up. The story is of recent date.
In 1903 some 3,440 acres of winter

wheat in the country produced 82,418
bushels, a rate of 23.95 bushels per acre.
Last year witnessed an almost incredible
increase in area under winter wheat, no
less than 32,174 acres being under culti-
vation to the crop, the total yield 689,-
019 bushels, or an average of 21.03 bush-
els per acre. Winter wheat is forging
ahead so strongly that the area under
this crop in 1906 is at least 50 per cent
larger than the winter wheat area of
1905. This is developing resources with
a vengeance — resources that were prac-
tically unknown at the beginning of the
twentieth century. Alberta Red has be-
come a name to conjure with. By her-
edity it is an improved and localized va-
riety of the familiar Kansas Turkey Red.
The day in which Alberta discovered
that she could produce abounding crops
of winter wheat was, with her, the day
of destiny. The dissatisfied farmer south
of the line was not slow to read in the
story of twenty-odd bushels to the acre,
ease and contentment for himself, com-
fort and wealth for his children,"

66

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW IN CANADA.

Just here, perhaps, you have the
temerity to hint that the climate of Can-
ada north and west of the Great Lakes,
a land till lately occupied by Eskimo, is
too cold for white people.

Then listen to his scorn.

"The wheat belt of Canada has a mild-
er average annual temperature than have
the bordering States of America. Why
don't you read your meteorological fig-
ures, the figures of your own statisti-
cians? Northing does not always mean
colding. Why, it takes a modicum of
cold to produce vigorous manhood, just
as it does to grow strong, firm, well-
fiavored apples. Look around you in ev-
ery Canadian city from Halifax to Vic-
toria and tell me if you ever saw a more
vigorous or virile looking population. If
your eyes are open and the eyes of your
understanding, you will see on Canadian
streets men and women of greater weight
of bone and more noticeable physical
hardness — and hardness and hardihood
of temperament — than you have seen in
your travels throughout the Old World.
Many of them are transplanted from

Moostoos, Chief of (he Sucker Creek Band,

European centers, but like transplanted
apples trees, their fibre has- strengthened
and hardened in the new soil."

He pauses to take breath and you
hasten to interpose fresh objections.

"Allowing that you can grow wheat,"
you say; "what about the rest? What
else is your prairie country good for? In
the States there is a variety of soil con-
ditions which makes possible diversified
farming, and this means real develop-
ment."

You have left a big opening for him
and he takes advantage of it.

"A nation can grow rich and strong
and great on wheat alone," he declares.
"With the money we get for our wheat
we can buy the luxuries of the world.
But we. have a variety of soils. Would
you see some of the varieties, and in a
single day's jaunt ? Go to the Moose Jaw
district. From the city the soil to the
north and west, for fifteen or twenty
miles, is a heavy clay, with clay sub-soil ;
from that to the Saskatchewan river soil
is lighter and somewhat broken with hills
as you approach the Saskatchewan. Be-
tween the main line of the Canadian
Pacific Railway and the Saskatchewan
River to Swift Current may be found
all kinds of soil from a stiff clay to a
light sandy loam. Along the Soo line to
Yellow Grass is a fairly heavy clay soil ;
south of the main line of the Canadian
Pacific Railway to the Coteau Hills we
find variable soil, from heavy clay to
light sandy loam. Is this not variety
enough to satisfy any man? They are
unexcelled for the growing of wheat or
vegetables or small fruits or almost any-
thing else that has a root and pokes its
head up towards heaven. The farmers
there have grown prosperous and have
helped to make the city of Moose Jaw a
metropolis of the province of Saskatche-
wan."

Outwitted, outreasoned, and logically
overthrown at even- turn, you have still
a shot left in the locker which with some
little hesitation, some inward trepidation
you bring forth. "Then there are the
Indians in your wild, wooly country. No
man wants to take his family up into a
land where Indians with warwhoops may

Breaking the prairie.

swoop down any calm night and massa-
cre his wife and babies.'' Immediately
you are covered with confusion and
sorry you spoke. His scorn is sup-
pressed. He speaks to you in the cool
judicial voice with which we address an
erring child.

"Your writer of Western stories who
said that the only good Indian was a
dead Indian did not know the Canadian
Indian. In the United States it has al-
ways been the fashion for the white man
and the red man to hunt each other. In
Canada the white man and the red man
hunt together. Does it mean anything to
you that our Indians are increasing in
number. Decent treatment of a people,
whose history in the States is as sad as
that of the buffalo, will work wonders.
And it is a fact that the government of
Canada, with the solicitude of a father,
watches over its red skinned children. It
has encouraged them to go on reserves
and to settle down, to make a living for
themselves as do other Canadians. They
know our Government will keep faith
with them and thev are readv in turn to

keep faith with the Government. In-
stead of hindering in the development of
the country the Indian in Canada is aid-
ing in the building of a new Empire."

Listening to this enthusiastic Canadian
is listening to that type of man who is
making good in Western Canada. He is
a product of the soil, a natural outcome
of hardy environment. His talk may at
least serve to give an idea of the re-
sourceful argument of the average Can-
adian. He knows Canada, and Canada
is a big enough topic to preclude his
worrying. He has hard sense wedded to
natural intelligence, and, moreover, he is
an enthusiast. His mind is full of the
illimitable resources, the vastness of his
country. Self-confidence and hopeful-
ness are the keynote of his character. He
is strong of hand, keen of brain, great
of heart. Day by day, year by year he
is subduing the earth, subduing it by
conquering difficulties which would have
overcome men of poorer breed.

Seeing immigration pouring in to his
rich wheat-land by the hundred thousand,
is it a wonder that he sets no limit to

68

THK VOTE OF THK CTVIC CLUB.

the growth and power of his nation-
hood? Is he unreasonable in supposing
that Canada can easily maintain 140,000,-
000 souls without encroaching on the
forest solitudes which shade off into the
Arctic Circle?

Western Canada is the crucible of all
nations — French-Canadians, Scottish-
Canadians, English and Irish-Canadians,
Americans, Germans, Scandinavians,

Icelander, Russians, Jews and Slavs,
Greeks, Turks, Syrians, Italians, Fin-
landers and North American Indians,
and racial mixtures from these hetero-
genous stocks. Out of this melting pot
is coming the composite product that I
venture to call the new Canadian, a na-
tional type, vigorous, democratic, inde-
pendent. He it is who will own and
dominate the Larger Canada.

THE VOTE OF THE CIVIC CLUB

By ANNE LEONARD

mmm

iT was a gloomy counte-
nance that Mrs. Richard
Baldwin presented to her
mirror as she stood be-
fore it, trying in vain to

find some grounds

for

convincing herself that her rusty black
jacket and last year's hat did not
look so bad. She buttoned and un-
buttoned the jacket and buttoned it
again, pulled it down as far as she could
to make it seem longer waisted, pushed
up and then pulled down over her hands
the threadbare sleeves already fraying at
the wrists, but she could find nothing to
approve. At last she picked up the hand
mirror and treated herself to a view of
her back. Her chief impression was of
shiny spots over the shoulder blades and
of the same short-waisted effect of the
front. With a final pull at the waist line
and a pat of the slick satin revers, she
laid down the mirror and stepping out a
little distance, stood contemplating her
full length. Still she found nothing to
add to her satisfaction. Her skirt, which
had been pressed and cleaned so many
times already, was frayed around the bot-
tom and its three-year-old# cut and hang
were unmistakable, to say nothing of its
tendency to ^'knees." As she looked at
her reflection, her quick perception of the
possibilities of her curving, graceful body
made more bitter the pang she felt that

she must present herself in these worn-
out things. "I am too old to wear black,
anyway," she commented after a long,
silent gaze, and turning away, she com-
pleted her costume by putting on an old-
fashioned fur collarette, and went out.

Out of doors the early November
wind, straight from the snow-covered
mountains, cut through her thin clothing
and she was soon thoroughly chilled.
She had no veil to keep either her hat or
her hair in place, and holding her hat
against the wind, her fingers tingled
within her thin gloves. She made one
or two futile efforts to replace the loos-
ened locks at her ears, but soon gave up
in disgust and just 'left herself to the
mercy, or lack of mercy, of the wind
and cold. The wind brought the tears to
her eyes, and her nose was red and
drawn. She knew that she looked ex-
actly as if she were crying and she felt
exactly as if she wanted to be. She drew
her head down in her fur collar, bent
over so that her hat would shield her
face from the wind and made her way
through the crowd, her heart within her
burning and hot with resentment and
humiliation.

Why couldn't Dick see that she needed
some clothes? Why were men so blind
and obtuse, anyway? If she were to
mention that she needed a cloak or hat
or gloves, she knew he would say, "Of

ANNE LEONARD.

69

course, Honey, get it right away." But
must she suggest everything that she
got? She wanted the initiative sometimes

to come from him, wanted him to see
some of her needs out of lus concern
for and interest in her. If she had had
anything since her marriage it wouldn't
seem so had. But what must people
think of Dick !

While she allowed these thoughts to
surge through her mind, beneath them all
she knew very well 'that no amount of
coaxing from Dick could induce her to
spend one cent of their precious little
fund for clothes. How jealously she had
watched it slowly creep up to its present
mark? But that didn't prevent the hurt
at his not offering it to her.

Bv the time she finished her er-
rands and started for home, she had
succeeded in making herself quite as
miserable as the most God-forsaken
need ever be. Raising her head as she
turned a corner, she saw Airs. Joseph
Bender, wife of the Republican candi-
date for Governor, drive by, muffled in
warm furs. "I'm glad T didn't see her
in time to speak," announced Airs. Rich-
ard to herself, as the keen wind sent an-
other shiver through her body. Even
vet she could not bring herself to admit
the thought that she was actually cold
for want of a cloak to keep her warm,
but she was wretched enough without
that.

On reaching her room, she took one
sweeping glance in her mirror, threw off
her wraps, dropped into a chair and
treated herself to a vigorous soul-cleans-
ing, ltcart-refreshing crv.

Now what was she crying for? A new
cloak or a new hat ? Not by any means.
Because she was of the cry-baby type of
woman ? More likely because she was
the furtherest possible removed from
that type. But really because when God
made woman as he did. he mercifully
made a good cry an antidote for the pe-
culiar disorders of her nature. What
the surgeon's lance does for a festered
sore, an irrepressible flow of high-class
swearing does for a bursting man and
a healthy cry does for the soul of the
woman who infrequently indulges.

It seemed to Mrs. Richard this morn-
ing that all the struggles and hope- and
longings of the whole thirty years of her
life were gathered together to-day in one
final, hopeless, pitiless failure. She saw
the las; possibility wither and die. It
seemed that her whole life had been one
constant struggle for just a comfortable,
even commonplace, existence. What a
relief she had felt when she married, at
the prospect of a comfortable income.
She had really married for love, but that
could not keep out of sight the fact that
the perpetual strain for necessities was
done with. But her respite had been
short. They had been married only a
year, when, labor troubles coming on,
Dick had lost his position, and then, as
if misfortune could never stop with
striking but once in the same place; one
failure after another had swept away the
few thousands he had saved up. The
temporary position that he had been able
to secure for a few months was gone
now, and it seemed utterly impossible to
find anything. Day after day there was
the almost feverish watching for the
postman, and day after day the same dis-
appointment of negative replies or no let-
ters at all, until it seemed that hope
could hope no longer and interest even
must die. Oh, what was to be done!
And why couldn't somebody need Dick!
Poor Dick! After all it was really pity
for Dick that was hurting her so. The
thing she thought she was crying for
was the very last thing on earth that she
would have had happen. It was simply
the tension that she had kept herself un-
der to hide from Dick her disappoint-
ment that was showing on her now.
Not for worlds would she add to his
trouble by having him even suspect that
she was undergoing any hardships.

"I'll cry it out and then I simply will
find some way to help without hurting
Dick." she said as she wiped her eves
and gazed out of the window without
seeing anything.

"How are prospects this morning?"
asked Mrs. Joseph Bender of her hus-
band as they lunched alone in their
sumptuous home.

"Gloomy." And the Hon. Joseph ex-

;o

THE VOTE OE THE CIVIC CLUB.

emplificd his answer in tone and counte-
nance. "What is the matter?"

"Well, it appears to he reduced to a
tight for this town and without the
Fourth ward I don't see how we can
make it. The Democratic majority there
will be small, but there is not much doubt
of their holding it."

The luncheon proceeded in silence for
a few minutes.

"Well, if the Fourth ward is necessary,
we've got to get it," announced Mrs.
Bender with the decision of a general.

"I'd like to find the way. Jones and I
went over every possible plan this morn-
ing and it seems hopeless," cheerlessly
answered her husband. "That it, unless
you can work some magic on it," he
added.

"There ! Why the ideal ! Of course !
Suppose we had let that slip by ! T knew
there must be a way," explained the lady
after a few moments thought. "How
many votes shall you need ? Do vou
think forty will do it?" she asked ex-
citedly.

"Oh, yes, forty will make us safe," but
there was no enthusiasm in the reply.

"I have it then! Mrs. Richard Bald-
win and the Civic Club!" Mrs. Bender
spoke in exclamatory sentences almost
entirely.

"My dear, what are you talking about?
Don't you know that those men are all
dyed-in-the-wool Democrats ?

"I'm talking about Mrs. Richard Bald-
win and the Civic Club, not their hus-
bands." The husbands were so unim-
portant just then and in this scheme that
Mrs. Bender did not consider it neces-
sary to make clear whether there were
two or forty of them.

"But Mrs. Baldwin is a woman — and
don't you know" —

"I know just this. That T saw her on
ihe street this morning and she certainlv
did look thread-hare, and her husband
is out of a position and has been for al-
most a year, and he wants the State
Building Inspectorship. And when one
has become addicted to tailor suits and
then grows threadbare, some way can be
found to induce her to c.^eot three thou-
sand a year, especially for hv.: wd hus-

band," rattled out Mrs. Bender as if each
thought were an inspiration and she must
seize it ere it escaped.

"I Tun — m, do you think so?" The
candidate was serious and interested
now.

"Yes, indeed, and you'll simply have
to give him what he wants and find
something else for Cousin John, for Mrs.
Baldwin is president of the Civic Club,
and holds its forty votes in the hollow of
her hand."

"Shall I send Mrs. Watts, the chair-
man of the women's committee, down to
see her this afternoon ?"

"Mercy, no! Send a woman after a
woman in a case like this ! Send the most
direct, business-like, important man you
have. Mr. Cains is the very man! I'll
go right "down to the office with you my-
self and prepare him for the task, for he
must not bungle with Mrs. Baldwin.
She must be skillfully handled and she is
all right. Oh, I'm sure it will work!"
and she nodded her head excitedly as
they got up from the table.

"Come 011. You can finish your cigar
at the office. I can't wait another minute
to begin work, and I'm sure Mr. Gains
will be down by the time we get there.

A half hour later, as Henry Hallam
Gains, erect, serious and immaculate, is-
sued from the inner office of the law firm
of "Bender and Gains," Mrs. Bender
Muttered after and sent him off with the
parting injunction, half-whispered and
emphasized by flourishes of her dainty
white hands :

"Now, remember, she is a woman, and
an honest woman, and we must have her
whatever the cost."

The clear, decided, but not too impor-
tant ring of Mrs. Baldwin's doorbell
seemed charged with some unusual qual-
ity, and she felt a prescience of some-
thing momentous about to happen as she
went to answer its summons. She felt
that it was no more than she expected,
when she opened the door and saw the
elegant, composed, keen-eyed gentleman
waiting there.

"Mrs. Baldwin? T am Henry' Gains of
the firm of Bender and Caints, and have
called to discuss a matter of business

ANNE LEONARD.

7i

with you as president of the Civic Club."
"I am very glad indeed to see you,"
smilingly answered Mrs. Baldwin as she
ushered him into her modest, but har-
monious living room. His words were
as a magic touch to her depressed spirits.
Instantly every faculty was awake and
alert to meet the occasion appropriately,
and all unconsciously she took on an
added shade of dignity and importance.
Wedged in among Mrs. Baldwin's
main- virtues was one small vanity —
which is not at all suprising as she was
but a mere human woman. But it gave
her slightly the nature of the Pharisee
and sbe thanked God that in one par-
ticular she was not as other women, and
in her innermost heart she cherished the
conviction that likewise did all the men
with whom she had ever done business.
She believed that she transacted business
in the same, direct, business-like man-
ner that men do, free from the numerous
nonsensical frills which most women at-
tach to it and which make men dislike so
to have to meet a woman in business.

Mrs. Bender's keen perception had
seen this and at once picked Gains, with
his capacity for going straight to the
point and his manner of appearing thor-
oughly open, as the very one to send to
Mrs. Baldwin. His very bearing was a
subtle appeal to her self-esteem.

"Now, Mrs. Baldwin," he began when
thev were seated, "I have come to seek
your assistance in a cause which, I am
sure, is dear to the hearts of both of us,
and which can be furthered only by our
united efforts. We both seek the welfare
of the State of Colorado. I need not go
into any account of the especial qualifica-
tions of the Hon. Joseph Bender to fill
the governor's chair, for I am sure you
know them already. Moreover, which
you probably do not know, he has looked
into the question of the restriction of the
circulation of free text-books to poor
children, for which your club has so
earnestly worked. He is convinced that
consideration for the public health de-
mauds it and he wishes me to assure you
that if elected he will do all in his power
to have the law passed."

"Oh, is it possible?" exclaimed Mrs.
Baldwin, "well, I" —

"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Baldwin, and,
moreover, he wishes me to say to you
that if elected he hopes to have your hus-
band consent to become State Building
Inspector for his administration."

"Oh," gasped Mrs. Baldwin, all un-
known to herself. Her eyes opened wide
and she stared in amazement. 'Was it
possible that she heard correctly? Surely
she did not grasp his meaning. He had
paused as if waiting for her to say
something, and the ceasing of his voice
served to call back her wits to their
posts.

"I see no reason why he should not,
I'm sure." she managed to say.

"I am glad to hear you say it, and we
trust that it will be some slight advantage
to him to hold the position, as we are
sure it will be fortunate for the State
to have him do so. The salary, you
know, is three thosand dollars a year.

"I know he'll be delighted to have the
position, and I hope very much that
nothing will stand in the way of his
getting it."

"Then it is plain that we can be of mu-
tual help. You give the votes of the
Civic Club for Mr. Bender, which will
secure his election and your husband's
apnointment to this position is assured.
You see it is simply a business propo-
sition— we need you, you need us and
the State needs us both."

Her heart was thumping so hard that
she could scarcely get her breath and
two scarlet patches burned in her cheeks,
but the president of the Civic Club would
present to the world a calm and com-
posed bearing at all times, and especially
in a business transaction.

"That is true," she said, "and the Civic
Club will appreciate the privilege of vot-
ing for a man on whom it can relv to
help it in its works of reform."

There was very little more to be said
and he was soon gone assured of the
Civic Club's support for the Hon. Jo-
seph Bender, and chuckling at the as-
sured downfall of the Democratic candi-
date.

"There, what did I tell you?" ex-

12

THE VOTE OF THE CIVIC CLUB.

claimed Mrs. Bender, as she flew into
her husband's inner office after the re-
turn of Gains, "am I not a genius ?"

"You are indeed," agreed her husband,
kissing her squarely on the lips, "your
talents eminently fit you for the exalted
position to which, we trust, an admiring
constituency is about to elect you."

"Oh, to think of it!" gasped Mrs.
Baldwin, sinking down on the hall stairs,
when Gains had gone. "A position for
Dick. Three thousand dollars! I am so
glad I can do something to bring it to
dear old Dick." And she was over-
whelmed by a rush of contrition for the
mean thoughts she had tolerated that
morning. How was it possible that she
could have entertained such thoughts
anyway? Yes, she would. Just as Mr.
Gains suggested, she would keep it a
secret and have a splendid surprise for
Dick when it was all done, and she could
tell him the place was his. Oh, was it
really true, or had she been dreaming?
How could such tremendous changes
come so suddenly? She was really dazed
and almost staggered by the sudden re-
lease of the strain of disappointments
and failures.

However, a few days' work in carry-
ing out her part of the pact enabled her
to readjust her understanding to the new
conditions. Still if Dick had not been
unusually preoccupied himself, he might
have noticed an unwonted undercurrent
of nervousness these last few days.

The Civic Club decided that while it
was about it, it would do things up com-
pletely and score a triple victory for
emancipated woman. Not only would it
elect the man who sympathized with its
work, but it would effectually and force-
fully refute the claims of those who
maintain that woman's suffrage only
multiplies votes, as the women always
vote with their husbands, anyway. Not
only that, hut it would dash to pieces and
grind to powder the damning charge that
woman cannot keep a secret. Not a Civic
husband should know until the fateful
day, but that his wife was meekly fol-
lowing him in the sacred path of Democ-
racy. But just wait until after the bal-
loting, and then see ! As their enthusiasm

grew, the tenacity with which they
gripped their secret was beautiful to see.
( ), Civic husbands, woe to you, -that no
pitying Providence grants you the slight-
est warning to prepare you for vour
awful fall!"

There never had been the slightest
doubt of .Mrs. Baldwin's ability to de-
liver the goods, so it was no surprise to
ihose on the lookout, when, late in the
afternoon of election day, the Civic la-
dies, in groups of a half dozen or more,
presented themselves at the voting places,
filed into the booths and cast their forty
votes for the Republican candidate for
Governor. They came late because it
was hard to let go of their secret after
such an ardent attachment, and they de-
lighted to prolong the last lingering hold.
Besides the leaders thought it just as
well not to let their opponents know any
earlier than necessary, of the deflection of
the Fourth ward.

"Come back just as soon as you know
the result, for I shall be anxious to
hear."

"Yes indeed, I shall," answered Rich-
ard Baldwin, hurrying out after dinner
to get the election news.

Mrs. Richard didn't know how in the
world she could ever live through the
time until Dick's return or contain her-
self then, long enough to tell him intel-
ligently of the wonderful news. She
walked up and down the room, looked
out the windows, sat down and got up,
went upstairs and came down, and did
everything that she could imagine to
pass the time and help her calm herself.
At last she sat down and picked up the
evening paper, attempting to read.

What was that? Dick's steps on the
walk and so early? She got up, but be-
fore she could reach the door, he came
bounding up the steps and dashed into
the house.

"Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Oh, Honey !" and
before she could utter a word he had
caught her in his arms and went whirl-
ing around the room in a wild dance.

"Why, wh — what it is it, Dickie, dear,"
she panted when he stopped and she got
breath enough to speak at all.

"Well, Thurston is elected Governor

I'.krt \ kni >\yi.t< ).\ r.U( >\v\. ^

and I'm to have the State Inspectorship aboul thirtj ballots that weren't properly
oi Buildings at three thousand a year, scratched."

Can von grasp that. Honey? A three , . ., . . . , , , .

,, ',',,,• i .- ' w- i i Mr\ l.aldwm had turned pale and

thousand dollar tob for sure. \\ c had a ,. , , . ... , . , .,

_,__ ,, , ._ , .,- , ,. ,._., ,. , , tl. flushed crimson as she listened in breath-

less incredulity to this outburst, and in
utter amazement, unable to tell whether

she were more chagrined or disgusted or

there that I get the plum. I didn t teb , , n ' , ■ ... , , „ ,

,. ° , ■ , r ,- t happv. she collapsed in Dick s arms and

you anything about it betore, for I was

afraid it might be another disappoint-
ment. After all we would have lost the "Oh, Dickie, how could you, and not

close call, too, and if I hadn't held those
fellows at the works in line we'd have
lost the Second ward. It is for mv work

mumbled to his shoulder:

"Oil, Dickie, how coul
Fourth ward if they hadn't thrown out tell me a thing about it?"

THROUGH AN OPEN WINDOW

By BERTA KNOWLTON BROWN

T

HE breath of pines in the sunshine

Is borne through the autumn air,
And slender young birches in white
Stand tremblingly over there.

Half fearful and yet rejoicing,

Thev bend a trifle to hear
Soft sighs their lovers are voicing —

The evergreens they revere.

The marshes are gorgeously gay.
The tidal stream winding and blue,

And white sand dunes far away
Add a finishing touch to the view.

The swamp maple blazes its story
Of beauty too great to believe ;

There are hints of transcendent glory
For him with the heart to receive.

And the soul of the seer is yearning
For something he cannot attain.

For something toward which he is turning
With hands out-stretched all in vain.

The call of the autumn is waking
Thoughts born in the long ago.

And far in the distance seems breaking
A vision he cannot vet know.

IN LITERARY FIELDS

ARRANGED BY

C. I'.l'RD.

JANE AUSTIN.

ANE AUSTIN stands for
much in the development
of English fiction and
ranks as the supreme mis-
tress of comedy. One
of the most remarkable
characteristics of the closing- decades of
the eighteenth century was the rapid
change of literary taste. There was
room for new kind of fiction, which
should be a comedy of life and manners,
and within her own limits, this writer
comes as near perfection as any human
genius can. On her was bestowed,
though in humble form, the gift of cre-
ative power.

SCOTT.
As the writer of historical novels,
Scott's superiority stands unchallenged.
While he may occasionally fail in ac-
curacy, he never fails in that higher kind
of truth which gives a firm artistic re-
ality to past history. In a word, he
brings much more than learning, much
more than patient investigation to his
task — he brings his entire personality. He
makes friends with all men through his
books as he did in his life, by virtue of
his geniality, his shrewd good sense, his
warm appreciation of all that is best in-
human nature, and his sympathy with its
frailties, and the popularity which is
based upon such qualities as these is a
popularity which is likely to endure. He
wrote according to his nature, and being
by nature great, in spite of his faults, he
has written in a great way and has left
behind him a beloved and imperishable
memory,

TH ACKER. IV.
Thackeray was, by the very nature of
his life, as well as by temper, cosmopoli-
tan. Being a man of the world, it was
inevitable that the material for his novels
should be drawn from a wide circle of
experience, and with his compeer,
Dickens — who must be reckoned a co-
partner— inaugurated a new school of
fiction. Thackeray's fiction is the inti-
mate product of his temperament. This

is not quite the same thing as saying that
it expresses his philosophy of life; what
is meant is rather that Thackeray's fic-
tion has a personal element, in which the
expression of his own character counts
for more than the expression of his phil-
osophy. His great characteristic is his
assumption of his part of the satirist and
censor of morals. The last thing to be
said of Thackeray, and it is not the least
thing — it is that he is a great writer as
well as a great novelist, which is a great
achievement, since no English novelist
has employed in telling his tale a style of
such dignity, such purity and strength
and real distinction.

DICKENS.
If any general term can be employed
to define the particular place of Dickens
in fiction, we may say that he is a demo-
cratic novelist. In a sense, scarcely ap-
plicable to any other novelist, he was a
man of the people and wrote for the peo-
ple, since he had a real depth and inten-
sity of popular sympathy. Dickens had,
moreover, an extraordinary power of ob-
servation, and this is the cardinal quality
of his art. It is so vivacious, so sensi-
tive, so ceaselessly active, that it may
rank as the distinctive quality. How
much he sees, and how vividly, is reveal-
ed even in his dullest page to a degree
that would be remarkable in the pages of
many other writers who have a claim to
brilliance. That he is a humorist none
will question, but his method belongs
rather to broad farce than to humor;
and one is not sure whether he would
not be more correctly described as a great
master of farce than a great humorist —
the greatest lord of farce who ever lived.
It is, however, as a great creative artist-
Dickens takes his place with the im-
mortals; and so long as men live not by
bread alone, but by food of the im-
agination, so long as men know how to
laugh at pure absurdity, to revel in the
jovial fun of high spirits and audacious
youth, to thrill and sadden at the trag-
edies of life, to feel pity, mirth, and love,
so long will the writings of Claries
Dickens live ,

PARTING

For High voire.

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hsm Cost Homes

Editor.

JHERE are good sized rooms
in this plan, and enough
of them to accommodate
a good sized family. The
house is thirty feet wide
and thirty-eight feet long,
exclusive of the porch. It should be
built in the timber sections, where car-
penter work is not too expensive, for
about $2,400.00, but estimates on build-
ing vary a great deal with localities. A
house that costs $2,000.00 in one place
mav cost $3,000.00 a hundred miles
away. Then individual tastes have a
good deal to do with it. A hard wood
finish adds a great deal more to the cost
of a house than the difference in price
between hard and soft woods, because
hard wood is slower to work and it re-

quires better skill and consequently bet-
ter paid carpenters.

Here we have a good-sized eight-
room house, the rooms are well arrang-
ed and the house itself when finished is
a good looker. It has a stone wall for
a foundation, and the wall is plastered
outside with water-proof cement mortar
to keep the cellar dry. Provision is
made for heating with -a furnace, and
many little accessories such as catch ba-
sin, slop sink, cess pool, etc., are pro-
vided to make the house complete. The
joists at the top of the wall are filled in
with grouting to keep out frost, and the
cellar is to have a cement floor. The
flues are lined with fire clay and stone
caps are provided for the chimneys, slop
sink, and cess pool, and the cellar win-

LOW COST HOMES.

dows are to have stone sills and the catch
basin to have a manhole and iron lid
with a ring in it. The wood outside
is pine, the inside is pine and the shingles
are white cedar. The only hardwood
specified is a white maple Moor in the
kitchen, and this should not be laid until
after the plastering- is finished-, as it will
not stand much dampness. This kind
of house is good enough for anybody,
and it does not get away with a big
amount of money.

The front porch of this house haying
a round corner, is a little unusual, but
when finished properly, it gives the
house a very attractive appearance from
the road. The recess between the two
wings of the house seems to provide a
place for an ornamentation of this kind.

One unusual feature is the manner in
which the clothes closets are built. Ad-
vantage is taken of the sloping roof in
the story and a half wing to make four
good closets without interfering with

any of the bed-rooms. Few houses
have closet room enough. In a good
many places the closet room is taken oft"
the bedrooms. Sometimes a corner is
blocked in with a clothes cupboard in
such a manner as to interfere with the
proper placing of the furniture. It is
a great study to arrange floor plans to
provide for such conveniences, and to
have all the rooms square and rightly ar-
ranged, and the proper size, without hav-
ing any badly shaped rooms. It is a
modern art to construct a house that is
convenient, sanitary and right in every
way inside, and at the same time have a
good appearance from without. It is
a common thing to see a lot of waste
room in a house, which means that all
such space must be cleaned and kept in
order year after year. Tt must be heat-
ed in the winter and ventilated at all
times at considerable expense, just be-
cause the architect failed to utilize space
to the best possible advantage,

A Gulliver Giant Reaching from
New York City to Washing-
ton, D. C., Might be Securely
Bound Down by the Shoe-
strings Now in Use in the
United States.

IT looked a little bit like a put-
up job on Statistical Sam,
the way the members of the
kitchen cabinet kept talking with
seeming over-assiduity. But, fin-
ally Sam's chance came, and he
delivered himself of the follow-
ing:

"Shoestrings admit of statistics.

\,

The
the

standard shoestring of America is
kind which comes in pairs, and is mark-
ed '4-4 !' '4-4' is • always 'four-quarters.'
That's the way shoestrings come, always
in quarters. '3-4,' '5-4/ '6-4' to '8-4'
lengths also obtain ; the extreme lengths
rejoicing under the plural trade cogno-
men, 'whangs !'

"Ninety per cent of the shoestrings
sold in America are 4-4's, usually of the
variety called 'spirals ;' on account of
the spiral twist of wire on their each
end. 3-4's are low-cuts ; 5-4's and 6-4's
for extra length ladies' and gentlemen's
footwear ; and above that, for men's
storm shoes and hunting boots. So it
will readily be seen that 4-4's constitute
a twin measuring unit. Each 4-4 being
one yard in length, the measuring unit
becomes six linear feet.

"Two pairs, or 12 feet, of shoestrings
a year is what I figure to be worn by
each of the more than 75,000,000 inhab-
itants of the United States. That would
give more than 175,000 miles of shoe-
strings ; or seven times around the earth.

"Many leather money bags arc used

I

throughout this country of ours, and us-
ually a shoestring is used for a draw-
string after the original drawstring
wears out. Say, then, that one man in
one hundred who is head of a family
uses a leather money bag with a shoe-
string drawstring, over $4,500,000 is
constantly passing in and out of such
shoestring loops.

"Allowing a shoestring watchchain to
one man in every 500 and with all those
men living in one city, the population
would be over 150,000; including their
families.

"If the shoestrings of the United
States were connected up and laid along
the mileage of railroad in this country
they would fall just a trifle short of
spanning the entire railway system.
Come a rain, however, and they would
stretch considerably further."

"Were the inhabitants of the United
States suddenly to discover a sleeping
Gulliver giant in their midst, by working
as Dean Swift portrays the vigilant bind-
ing attack of the Liliputians, by using
knotted shoestrings alone we could bind
down securely a Brobdinaggian whose
head might rest in New York City and
his feet in Washington, D, C."

Uncle Reuben and Aunt Sarah Ann encounter the
March wind at the Post Office corner.

Uncle Reuben— (as the wind takes possession of his hat.) "Dod blast th' thunderin' — ! — !! "

Aunt Sarah Ann — "What was that ye said, Reuben? "

Uncle Reuben — "I said, Sarah Ann, that this would be a fine day if 't weren't for the wind."

NEW HILDEBRECHT DINING ROOMS

fill a long-felt want to Trentonians who appre-
ciate good eating at popular prices.

Modern and attractive in every particular —
built with an idea ot refinement and comfort —
makes ours an ideal dining room for your en-
joyment.

Service from 8. a. m. to 8 p. m.
wiih a Menu containing all the ssasonable del-
icacies snd substantiate, served with a dainti-
ness which will appeal to your palate.

Many popular dishes at '2~> cents — some high-
er— some less. Suppose you see for yourself.

Hildebrecht Catering Co.,

19 and 21 W. State Street.

The Acme
Magazine

GOES INTO EVERY HOME IN TRENTON

It is kept on the library or drawing-room
table for at least a month, and is read by every
member of the household. Nearly every one
who looks through a magazine reads the ad-
vertisements; because magazine advertising is
made as attractive as skillful engraving and
fine printing can make it, and it is one of
the magazine's principal and most interesting
features.

Your advertisement in the Acme is simply
a s«fe and sure investment, on which you are
guaranteed handsome returns Try it and be
convinced.

The Acme Publishing Co.

510 MASONIC TEMPLE
TRENTON, N. J-

"Amid the fragrance of summer flowers, he wandered with Alice Armstrong."

(See Serial Story " For Freedom's Cause.")

The Acme fiagazine

Vol. 1.

MARCH, 1907

No. 5.

Entered as second-class matter November 16, 1906, at the Post Office at Trenton, N. J.,
under the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879.

A MEMORABLE POLITICAL CONTEST.

How One Man Elected Another to the United States Senate.

THE INSIDE FACTS WHICH GOVERNED THE GREAT POLITICAL EVENT OF 1887 NOW TOLD

FOR THE FIRST TIME.

By CHARLES S. TUNIS.

;> aeaa© w© b O USE
#§ t< Iff phrase

W9Wf999999

AN overworked
"it is the unex-
pected that happens."
The story that follows is
of things that transpired
twenty years ago — beside which some
events of the recent past lose in dramatic
interest if they do not pale in importance.
The tale has, to the writer's knowledge,
never before been told "from the inside;"
or. if told, has not been authenticated by
any of the actual participants in the events
herein described. And yet what is here
related, goes to the making of an import-
ant chapter in the political history of the
State, and it should be given to the public
while there are those living who may be
able to correct any minor errors of fact
which shall have inadvertently crept in.

Our initial chapter opens with a glance
at political events as they transpired in
New Jersey in the summer and fall of
1886. Grover Cleveland was President
of the United States; Congress was Dem-

ocratic by a working majority in the
House of Representatives; but the Re-
publicans held the Senate; David B.
Hill was Governor of New York; Leon
Abbett was in the last year of his first
term as Governor of New Jersey, and his
successor was to be elected in the fall;
William J. Sewell and John R. McPherson
represented New Jersey in the Senate of
the United States, the term of the former
to expire, and a successor to be elected
to fill the vacancy to ensue in the follow-
ing March. Governor Abbett would
retire in January, and • his consuming
ambition was to capture the seat in the
Senate held by General Sewell, who
on the other hand proposed to succeed
himself. Meantime there was to be a
new Governor as well as legislature to
elect the Senator.

To effect the object of his supreme
desire Governor Abbett had exerted every
effort to secure his party's supremacy, and
to build up within its organization an all-

A MEMORABLE POLITICAL CONTEST.

Hon. Leon Abbett.

powerful, personal machine; and to all
appearance he was about to succeed in
both endeavors. That he did not is a
matter of history, and it will be interest-
ing to recall the circumstances and note
wherein he failed and saw his hopes
dashed to earth at the very moment of
anticipated victory.

The Democratic state gubernatorial
convention met in Trenton on the 28th
of September. The leading candidates
before that body were Robert S. Green,
of Elizabeth, then at the close of a first
term in Congress, and Rufus Blodgett, of
Monmouth county, president of the New
York and Long Branch Railroad, a
former member of Assembly for three
terms from Ocean county, whence he
had migrated to Monmouth, and then
chairman of the Democratic State Central
Committee.

There were others who "also ran" — on
the first ballot, and up to the closing
minutes of the second, but the real con-
test was between Green, who stood for
himself, but with the Abbett backing be-
hind him, and Blodgett, who was being
pushed by those not in sympathy with
the methods or the ambitions of Abbett.

Particularly active in Blodgett' s support
from his own county were such men as
the late Henry S. Little, a former leader
and still a power in state politics; Surro-
gate David S. Crater, a popular and
resourceful local leader, and Hon. William
S. Throckmorton, who represented the
old first Assembly district of Monmouth,
and had already honorably won his spurs
in the Assembly, and others ]ocally prom-
inent in their day. Of the trio named
only Mr. Crater survives; but still popu-
lar and capable, he remains a treaty power
in local politics.

Mr. Blodgett's showing on the first
ballot was a little less than half of that of
Mr. Green, but the scattering vote for
perennial candidates and favorite sons
was large, and neither had a majority of
the convention. Green's lead however,
had given him an unmistakable prepond-
erance and he was easily nominated on
the second ballot.

The methods employed had, neverthe-
less, left a particularly bad taste in the
mouths of the Monmouth friends of Blod-
gett, who felt that the Governor had ag-
gressively intermeddled in their affairs, and
they did not take any especial pains to
disguise the fact that they were "going
home on the cussing train."

Prominent among the Abbett following
in Monmouth was former Congressman
Charles Haight, who had been a class-
mate and a close friend of Robert S.
Green, and claimed that this justified his
personal support of the latter; also County
Clerk James Patterson and his brothers,
John H. and "Ewing" Patterson, the
former of whom was then and some time
afterward Keeper of the State Prison.

It has been found necessary to give
some account of conditions existing in
Monmouth at the time, for the reason, as
afterwards appeared, that they had a di-
rect and important bearing on the final
result. It had fallen to the lot of Assem-
blyman Throckmorton (and a presuma-
ble candidate for re-election), as chair-

CHARLES S. TUNIS.

man of the Monmouth delegation, to pre-
sent Mr. Blodgett's name to the conven-
tion, which he did with characteristic
force and eloquence; and General Haight
had been the spokesman for Green in
voicing the Abbett sentiment in the county
before the same body. Monmouth was
a house divided against itself, and although
the Green delegates were as eleven only
to twenty-five on the final round up, it
was enough to expose the weak point in
the Blodgett line and greatly diminished
his chances of the nomination. The
wound, at this time opened, did not heal,
"by first intention," and in point of fact
the cicatrix eventually formed is still
visible.

The Republicans of the county were,
of course, not slow to take advantage of
the dissensions in the ranks of their adver-
saries and straightway set about promot-
ing and aggravating them. Mr. Throck-
morton was permitted to be re-elected
practically without opposition. Sherman
B. Oviatt, former Speaker of the House,
was sent again to the Assembly from Mr.
Blodgett's home district — and, it was
hinted, not strictly in opposition to the
latter's wishes, and the Democratic candi-
date in the Shrewsbury district, which lies
also along the New York and Long Branch
Railroad, was beaten by a Republican to-
wards whom railroad interests were not
supposed to entertain any marked antip-
athy. So that with Ohattle, of Long
Branch, in the Senate and Throckmorton
of the First district, and Oviatt and Luf-
burrow in the House, and Green just pul-
ing through in the reliable (?) old county
it looked a drawn battle between political
parties in Monmouth ; and if there was a
large personal following for Abbett it cer-
tainly had failed of any adequate represen-
tation in the legislature.

It was charged by the Abbett leaders
that there had been apathy, if not open
disaffection ; that the Blodgett people
had "sulked in their tents" ; and there
was no convincing denial. The Gover-

General William J. Sewell.

nor's friends, however, counted on caucus
control of the two men from Monmouth
and loudly proclaimed them as in honor
bound to support the regular candidate
for the United States Senate, which, of
course, could be none other than Gover-
nor Abbett, with all that his nomination
would imply.

The election was over and Green was
Governor by 8,020 plurality. (This was
the year that Clinton B. Fisk ran on the
Prohibition ticket, and pluralities had to
be substituted for majorities.) The re-
turns were claimed by the Democrats to
give them a majority of one on joint bal-
lot in the incoming legislature, or forty-
one for their candidate for the Senate to
forty all told against him, and a margin in
the House sufficiently large to organize the
Assembly in the interests of the party.

However, it will be seen that this was
a boast on the part of "him that putteth
on his armor." The Republicans held the
State Senate by the safe majority of three,
there being twelve Republicans to nine
Democrats, classing Dr. Chattle of Mon-
mouth as a good-enough straight-out
on party lines — while of the simon-pure
Democrats elected to the House there
could not be more than thirty to be de-

6

A MEMORABLE POLITICAL CONTEST.

pended upon, and of these, two were
claiming seats which were vigorously con-
tested (Turley, of Camden, and Walters,
of Trenton, who were finally sworn in);
and besides the twenty-six solid Republi-
cans there were left enough "labor Dem-
ocrats" and "labor men" of undecided
proclivities to turn the scale. Should the
Democrats capture all the irregulars, save
Donohue, of Passaic, elected by the
Knights of Labor, it might still turn upon
what that gentleman should do, whether
Leon Abbett or somebody else should go
to the United States Senate.

The situation was confusing indeed, but
the Democratic press and leaders pro-
fessed a cheerful confidence in coming
victory and went on with their prepara-
tions to make the most of it. They were
to elect the next Senator, and his name
was none other than Abbett, the redout-
able chieftain of the party upon whose
banners victory was accustomed to perch.

It was the eleventh day of January, 1887,
when the one hundred and eleventh leg-
islature was to meet in New Jersey's capi-
tol "and organize and proceed to busi-
ness in manner and form prescribed by
the constitution of the State." There
had been crowds in attendance and liter-
ally a hot time in the old town the night
before, and the day brought accretions to
the number of on-lookers and participants
until excitement in and around the State
House was at fever heat.

Three o'clock arrived, the time fixed by
the constitution for the two houses to
organize. The Senate chamber was oc-
cupied by a "conference" of a mixed body
of Republicans, Independents, dissatisfied
Democrats and "labor men," members-
elect of the House, who were reported to
have agreed on a program which contem-
plated the organization of the Assembly
and control of its committees on the basis
of a division of the dependent offices, the
bulk of which were to go to the Demo-
cratic seceders and so-called Indepen-

dents. But when the members of the
Senate wanted access to their chamber
they got it; it was no longer needed by
the high contracting parties.

The coalition filed out and in a compact
body moved into the corridor and marched
over to the door of the Assembly chamber
— thirty-one strong with the twenty-six
Republicans "leading on." Here they
were momentarily barred by one of last
year's hold-over door-keepers who was
keeping ward over an interesting caucus
of twenty-nine irascible and somewhat
excited Democratic Assemblymen "sitting
on the lid" with a grim determination
to hold it down, come what might. But
somehow the door went open and the
thirty-one went in with precision and
dispatch.

The entrance of the "invaders," as the
insiders chose to designate them, was not
merely a surprise; it took on an air of
business, and that of immediate and
urgent importance. It seemed, more-
over, to suggest resistance, and its chal-
lenge was promptly met. Mr. McDer-
mitt, of Essex sprang to the defense.
"The Democrats were holding a caucus;
they had possession of the fort; they pro-
posed to hold it against all comers until
their deliberations should be completed.
This was an intrusion ; persisted in it
would be an outrage. He demanded the
instant retirement of the intruders."

Chairman Beckwith, of the caucus,
"appealed to their sense of fairness and
courtesy; he trusted they would be guided
by the rules that obtained among gentle-
men," &c. , &c. There was pandemonium.
The Republicans and their allies, through
ex-Speaker Armstrong and others, main-
tained "their right, as a majority of mem-
bers-elect, to enter the chamber and pro-
ceed with," &c. , &c.

To circumstantially describe minor
events of twenty years ago will hardly be
expected, but salient points are easily
remembered. After the irruption of the
Republicans and their allies as already

CHARLES S. TUNIS.

described there was a scene of disorder
which continued until the exclusion of all
outsiders, which happened concurrently
with the arrival of a detachment of Tren-
ton city police. These were sent, it was
said, "at the suggestion of Governor
Abbett, for the preservation of order,"
and may possibly have contributed to that
end, although the act was denounced at
the time as a high-handed piece of usurp-
ation by the political enemies of the
Governor.

But, at any rate, after quiet, in some
measure, had been restored, a compromise
of the pending troubles was effected by
the retirement of the Armstrong party to
the Speaker's room, ostensibly to enable
the caucus to close its "labors" as speed-
ily as possible and participate in the orga-
nization already too long delayed. But
that this extension of time was not to be
continued very long was discovered by
the astonished occupants of the main
chamber when they saw, some half an
hour later, the allied forces suddenly
emerging from their place of retirement,
taking prompt possession of the speaker's
desk and asserting control of the House.
This done, Dr. William M Baird, of
Warren county, who was at the head of
the advancing procession, seized the
Speaker's gavel, announced that he had
just been elected Speaker bv a lawful
majority of duly qualified members of
the assembly, thirty-one in number,
and declared amidst the resulting con-
fusion that the House was open for

the further transaction of business. *
There was confusion, chagrin and pro-
test and a futile struggle on the part of the
chairman of the caucus to wrest the gavel
from the hands of the self-proclaimed
Speaker. But the Republicans stood
firmly by and after further unavailing
appeal and denunciation, the caucus broke
up on a motion to adjourn and grumb-
lingly retired. The Armstrong-Baird
organizers then proceeded to complete
their program by the election of minor
officers and adjourned in due form to the
following day in full possession of the
chamber and maintaining the validity of
all their acts.

The chapter to follow in the April
number of the Acme will tell how this
claim was conceded; how some of the
bolting Democrats returned to the fold,
and the Houte "pulled itself together,"
and proceeded to business. Also how the
Senate refused to organize until the 1st of
February, and, incidentally how trouble in
the meantime broke out afresh in the
Democratic ranks and Abbett was de-
feated for and Blodgett elected to the
United States Senate.

♦Note — A contemporary account, happily hits off
one of the crucial incidents of the scene in stating what
happened after the Republicans and their allies re en-
tered the chamber and swarmed over the Speakers
desk, as follows: 'When they reached the platform Mr.
Baird attempted to take the chair and seize the Speak
er's gavel. Mr. Beckwith, who had possession of the
chair, resisted and a struggle ensued between the two
gentlemen who staggered off the rostrum together.

The galleries were crowded and intense excitement
prevailed Cheers and hisses commingled made the
scene one never to be forgotten. Everybody was ex-
cited Finally a motion, apparently from both sides,
prevailed to adjourn and the tumult was subdued."

The only error in the above is that the Democrats
adjourned first the Republicans staying for a few mo-
ments and adjourning later.

FOR FREEDOM'S CAUSE.

By WILLIAM P. EVERETT.

UST OFF the old Bruns-
wick road, not far from
the village of Trenton,
during the Revolution,
stood the residence of
Judge Nathan Armstrong. It was a large
house, with long verandas and imposing
Ionic columns, built in the style so popu-
lar with men of means in that period. A
long lane, edged by tall fir trees, led from
the highway to the front of the mansion,
and then circled about the house to the
stables in the rear. Some distance back
of the latter, and extending along one
side, was a dense grove of trees composed
largely of chestnut and hickory. From
these woods was derived the name of the
plantation, " Hickory Grove "

Late in the afternoon of the December
day upon which our story opens, in the
year 1776, a man might have been seen
stealthily crossing the field between the
woods and the outbuildings. Approach-
ing the half- open door of the stable he
entered, but paused upon the threshold
and closely scrutinized the house, then,
turning, he let his eyes roam over the in-
terior of the stable and a look of surprise
overspread his face.

"What has come over the place?" he
exclaimed, half aloud. "There is some-
thing strange about the appearance of the
house, and the stable has a neglected look
that is unusual with the property of Judge
Armstrong. I'll lay low for a while and
see how the land lays. If the Judge was
not such a rabid Royalist, I would suspect
that the red-coats had been up to some-
thing, but they surely would not annoy
such a pronounced Tory as Nathan Arm-
strong, and so I cannot account for it, un-

less the old gentleman is ill. I hope he is
not, and I trust Alice is — Great Guns! it
can't be that anything has happened to
her ! I'll go to the house at once," and
the man turned quickly, as if about to
leave the stab'e, while a troubled look ap-
peared in his face, but he halted and
again turned to the interior. Then he con-
tinued: " But, no, I must wait until dark,
I can trust none of the servants except
Sam. There is too much at stake to run
any unnecessary risk now. It will be
dark in an hour and then I can chance it
with less probability of being recognized.
It may be that Sam will come out to feed
the stock and — " he paused and stared at
a row of stalls at the side, all empty save
one, which contained a bay mare, now
eyeing him with an animal's curiosity.

"Why, what has become of the horses?"
he continued. ' 'The stable looks as though
it had been cleaned out of everything.
Now, I wonder — "

He stopped suddenly and listened. A
look of alarm overspread his features as
the sound of footsteps apprised him that
somebody was approaching on the gravel
path between the house and stable. He
looked about for a place of refuge and his
eyes fell upon a pile of straw opposite the
empty stalls. He had scarcely concealed
himself beneath the straw when an old
negro, evidently a servant of the place,
shambled in.

The newcomer was mumbling to him-
self in an angry tone, loud enough for the
hiding man to hear.

"'Tween de Tories an' de Britishers
and de Dutch, we don' know whar we's
at. What fo' dey want to hang aroun'
dis place after dey has got all dere is teh

WILLIAM P. EVERETT.

get. Dey don' leave us nothin' now but
our clo's an' I 'spect dey'll be 'long after
dem ar, purty soon."

At this juncture the old negro happened
to glance at the horse and seeing its eyes
fixed upon him, immediately directed his
address to the animal.

" Yo' ol' good-fo' -nothin', what fo' dey
did n't took yo' ? Dey better come back
an' git yo', so's dis ol' niggah won' have
to come out in de cold to feed yo' when
he' s had nothin' to eat hisself. " He opened
a feed-box and taking therefrom a few ears
of corn threw them in the manger, after
which he put in an armful of hay, all the
while talking to himself.

" I's nearly froze but I 'spect I'll have
to make yo' bed up good an' warm, or de
ol' Marse'll git in my wool," saying
which he snatched up a hay-fork and
angrily thrust it in the pile of straw which
covered the hiding man.

The next instant he sprang back, terri-
fied, for from the depths of the straw came
a long sepulchral groan.

" Wha's dat ! " he ejaculated, while his
eyes stared in wide open astonishment at
the pile of straw, from which issued an-
other groan, more terrifying than the
first. The frightened negro was too weak
to run and dropping on his knees he
clasped his hands and cried in ter-
ror.

Then from out the pile arose a figure
which to the horrified gaze of the old ser-
vant was the devil personified. If the ne-
gro had not been blinded by fright he
might have seen that the man was young,
apparently not more than twenty-two
years of age, tall and well developed, his
form indicating strength and activity ;
his face, though somewhat tanned by ex-
posure, was strikingly handsome. The
steady light in his bright grey eyes
showed that he possessed a frank, fear-
less spirit. He was dressed in the garb of
a farm hand, but there was something
about the ease and grace of his carriage
that would have indicated, to an exper-

ienced eye, the power to command respect.

Yet the black servitor crouching at his
feet noted none of this and only moaned
in his terror.

" O, Marse Debil, I's not don' nothin'.
Let me go. I's jes' an ol' niggah what
ain't no good to nobody. Please Marse
Debil—"

A peal of laughter came from the young
man and he held his sides in a paroxysm
of merriment.

"Why, Sam, you black rascal, don't
you know me? "

The voice and humor of the young man
reassured the old negro and his vision
cleared. A gleam of recognition came in-
to his eyes and rising to his feet he
scrutinized the face before him.

"Well, I 'clar to goodness, if it ain't
Marse Luke! What fo' yo' dun scare dis
ol' niggah dat-a-way, I didn't know yo',
Marse, 'deed I did n't," and the old man
grinned with relief.

''Well, now that you do know me,"
answered the young man, " tell me some-
thing. First, how is the Judge?"

"O he's fair to middlin', got a little
rheumatics and pestered near to death
wid de Dutch an' Britishers, but he's
mighty spry yet."

"How is Al — , say, tell me, what is
the matter with the place ? There is
something strange about it, a condition
I can't describe definitely, it's not exactly
disorder and yet there is plainly evident
an air of something unusual. And the
horses, what has become of them ?"

"O Marse Luke, de Dutcher sogers
take eberythin'. Dey come take all de
hosses, 'cept ol' Nell, an' I 'spect dey don'
took her cause she's no good. Dey take
ol' Marse's wine, and eberythin' we got to
eat, 'cept what we hide away, an' dey help
demselves to anythin' dey want widout
sayin' 'wid yo' leabe, sah.' "

"The devil they do!" exclaimed the
young man. "Don't they respect the
Judge's protection papers? Why don't
he complain to Colonel Rail?"

10

FOR FREEDOM'S CAUSE.

"Why Marse, dem Dutchers don'
'spect nothin'. Dey do jes's dey please.
I s'pose dey come an' break ah heads
yet."

"Now tell me, how is Miss Alice?"
asked the young man, an anxious light
showing in his grey eyes.

"O she's jes's lubly's eber," replied
the negro, " only she do get so mad when
de sogers come aroun' to steal de things.
She stamp her feet an' tell dem dat dey's
no gemmen. She says she tell Marse
Luke, an' he come an' whip de hull Dutch
army," and the negro laughed loudly at
the witticism.

The young man smiled also as he ex-
claimed :

" By Jove ! I'll do it, too, if they annoy
her too much," and then continued :
"Well. Sam, I'll go up to the house and
see the folks."

"Dey' 11 be mighty glad to see yo'
Marse," replied the old darkey, "'Deed
dey will. Dey talk about yo' ebery day.
Marse Jedge said only yestahday dat if he
knew of some way t'git a letter t'yo',
he would send one an' tell yo' how de
Britishers is treatin' him. It'll make
Miss Alice's heart glad to see yo' too,
and — " The negro suddenly paused and
a look of consternation overspread his
countenance as he continued: "But yo'
can't go thar now, Marse Luke, not jes'
now, yo' better wait a little."

"Why can't I go now?" asked Luke,
"what's up ?"

"Dere's a Britisher up dere," replied
the negro.

"Only one? That won't prevent my
going," exclaimed the young man, con-
temptously, as he made a move toward
the door, and then paused, continuing
half to himself; "But stay ! I must not
run the risk of being captured now. I
can take no chances until I've reported to
the General," then to the negro again,
"I'll tell you what you do, Sam, go to
the house and hang around until the
varmint leaves, and then come and tell

me. I'll stay here until you return.
Now, not a word to anyone about my
being here, for I want to surprise them.
Can you keep it to yourself?"

"Yes, sah, Marse Luke, I won' tell
enny body dat yo's here, an' I 11 come
an' let yo' know jes's soon as de British-
er's gone, " and the old negro shambled
out of the stable, chuckling to himself as
he took his way to the house.

After the darkey disappeared through
the half-open door, Luke Morris seated
himself upon the feed box and fell into
reverie. He recalled the last time he had
been there, a hurried visit made but a few
short weeks before, when he had passed
through Trenton with the Continental
army, retreating before the merciless
British foe. And then memory brought
to his mind's eye other visits, made
under different conditions. He thought
of other days, when instead of the white
frost of winter, the ground was covered
with a carpet of green grass. When
amid the fragrance of summer flowers, he
had wandered over the fields and along
the highway with Alice Armstrong. He
remembered how the first rumors of war
had made him fear that he might lose
favor with the fair Alice, for he must cast
his lot with the rebels and he knew that
Judge Armstrong was staunchly loyal to
the King. When he enlibted in the Con-
tinental army, and declared his intention
to fight for the colonies, the Judge had up-
braided him, had called him "rebel," and
declared he would become an outlaw, but
his love for the young man was too deep
to suffer his resentment to last long, and
he finally resigned himself sorrowfully to
what he called "the boy's foolishness."

Alice's love for Luke made it easy for
her to transfer her loyalty from the King
to the "cause of freedom," and she be-
came as strong a partisan in her views as
Luke himself. When he departed to join
the army she had promised to be faithful
to him and he knew she would keep her
vow. He had a rival in the person of

WILLIAM P. EVERETT.

11

Alice's cousin, George Burton, but the
girl had shown her preference for Luke
and had rejected the advances of Burton,
who had afterward joined the British army,
his father having bought a lieutenant's
commission for him. ■"

Luke had deported himself creditably
in the American cause, and had been ap-
pointed to a sergeancy, He had fought
at the battle of Long Island and had been
a participant in all the hardships which
followed. He had accompanied the army
in its retreat through the Jerseys, and be-
ing of a magnetic personality, and with
the gift of fluent speech, had been of the
greatest service to the officers of his regi-
ment, by inducing many disheartened
men to remain with the army when hun-
dreds were deserting.

The condition of the Continental army
at this time was deplorable. Battalion
after battalion left the ranks, as the col-
umn passed through Brunswick, their
terms of enlistment having expired, but
when the remaining troops reached Tren-
ton, weary, ragged, well-nigh disheart-
ened, they were re inforced by a German
battalion, three battalions of Philadelphia
Associators, the Philadelphia Troop of
Light Horse, a battery of artillery and two
small regiments of New Jersey militia.

It took all day of December 7th and
until Sunday morning of December 8th to
transport the army across the Delaware
river, and it was while this was pro-
gressing that Luke stole away to visit the
plantation of Judge Armstrong.

He found that gentleman in high spirits
over the prospect of a short termination
of the war, and Alice correspondingly
pleased with the thought that Luke would
soon be through with the hardships of a
soldier's life. He remained with Alice
but a short time and then departed, hur-
rying to join the rear-guard of the retreat-
ing army. He reached the river in time
to be among the last to cross, and none
too soon, for an hour afterward a brigade
of Howe's army entered the village, with

much pomp and display, with music play-
ing and banners flying. They went down
to the river bank only to find that there
were no boats for them to cross, and to
receive a shower of grape-shot from a bat-
tery posted on the high ground opposite.
They realized that it was too late for their
skillful and powerful force to crush at one
blow, the apology for an army which bore
arms for the young republic, and which
they had actually chased to the bank of
tfiis river.

The Jerseys were now virtually in pos-
session of the British, and, since boats
could not be procured, they had only to
wait for the closing of the river by ice to
cross and annihilate the rebels and then
seize Philadelphia, at that time the capi-
tal of the republic. And so General Howe
ordered a line of winter cantonments to be
immediately formed at Brunswick, Prince-,
ton, Trenton and Bordentown. The posts
at Trenton and Bordentown, the most
important positions nearest the American
army, he garrisoned with German troops.
The consequence was that food and forage
were taken from the inhabitants, their
buildings burned, valuables stolen. The
Whigs were ill-treated and despoiled and
society was disorganized

The Continental army was arranged
along the shore on the Pennsylvania side
of the river, from McKonkey's ferry to
Dunk's ferry. The troops were ill-clad;
they greatly needed stockings and shoes,
few of them had blankets and many regi-
ments were without camp equipage. This
was the sorrowful condition of the Amer-
ican army at the time our story opens. It
was rumored in the ranks that Washing-
ton intended to make some decisive move,
but when it was to be made or what the
nature of the movement was, none knew.

On December ISth an orderly informed
Sergeant Luke Morris that General Dick-
inson wanted him to report to his head-
quarters at once. Luke found the Gen-
eral in conference with General Washing-
ton and General Ewing. They were

12

FOR FREEDOM'S CAUSE.

seated at a table, on which was spread a
number of maps and these seemed to be
under discussion. General Dickinson
was speaking as Luke entered, and he
overheard that officer say to General
Washington :

" I am sure it can be done, General,
but we must know the exact situation on
the other side of the river."

He looked around as Luke saluted and
exclaimed :

" Ah, Sergeant Morris! " and then con-
tinuing to Washington, "and General,
here is the man to get the information we
need."

General Washington carefully scruti-
nized the countenance of Luke and then,
seemingly satisfied, said :

"Sergeant Morris, I am informed by
General Dickinson that you are acquaint-
ed with the village of Trenton, across the
river."

"Yes sir," replied Luke, respectfully,
" I know the village very well."

"He also tells me," continued Wash-
ington, that you are loyal, sagacious, and
can act quickly in emergencies,"

"General Dickinson does me great
honor," Luke replied.

"Now, Sergeant, we desire to be in-
formed of the exact situation of the enemy
at Trenton. Do you think you can get
the information we want?" Washington
asked, looking intently into the face of
Luke

"1 will try, sir," answered the young
man calmly, although his heart leaped at
the thought of so perilous an undertaking.

•" Of course you realize that it is a very
dangerous mission," said Washington,
' ' and I give you the privilege of declining
to undertake it."

Luke returned the gaze of the General-
in-Chief and raising his hand in respect-
ful salute replied :

" I decline no duty that falls to my lot,
sir, and will undertake, with pleasure,
this mission for the cause of freedom."
"Good!" exclaimed General Wash-

ington, "I trust you will get through
without harm coming to you. You may
use your own judgment as to the manner
of getting the desired information, I leave
the details entirely to you, but report to
me three days hence, if possible."

In the darkness of the early morning
following, Luke Morris rowed himself
across the river above the line of sentinels
on the Jersey shore, and hiding his boat
in the thick bushes which lined the river
bank, struck out for the village of Tren-
ton, disguised as a farm-hand. Knowing
the ground well he had little difficulty in
eluding the picket posts and passing the
sentinels.

Although perfectly familiar with the
village, Luke was himself scarcely known
to the inhabitants, and being well dis-
guised he was enabled, when once inside,
to mingle with the villagers on the streets
and at the taverns, with comparative
safety, only risking the chance of encount-
ering some one from Birmingham or from
Maidenhead, at which places he was well
known, or a servant from "Hickory
Grove," who might recognize him and
unintentionally disclose his identity.

Upon entering the town he made him-
self agreeable and succeeded in gathering
much information, which he knew would
be of great value to his commanders.
Then, having plenty of time, he deter-
mined to visit Judge Armstrong's planta-
tion, and see Alice, before returning to
the Pennsylvania shore.

While in the village Luke had discov-
ered that the regiment of British line, to
which George Burton belonged, was sta-
tioned at Bordentown, and knowing that
Burton would visit Alice as often as cir-
cumstances would permit, he could not
resist the temptation to at least take a look
at the girl he loved, and not leave the
field entirely to his rival. And so here
he was, in furtherance of that purpose, in
her father's stable and —

So absorbed in recollection of the fore-
going events was Luke Morris that he had

ERNEST VOLK.

13

not noticed that during his reverie day had
departed and given place to the shadows of
evening. He came to himself abruptly
and realized that he was sitting in darkness.
"What has become of that black scoun-
drel?" he exclaimed, springing to his
feet. "The imp of Satan said he would
come back and tell me when the British
blackguard was gone, but he must have
forgotten, because the rascally red-coat
must surely be gone by this time. I be-

through it into the kitchen, at a group of
servants, who were preparing the evening
meal, and gossiping, the while. Among
them he descried Sam, telling what ap-
peared to be a wonderful story, to judge
from the elaborate gestures he was mak-
ing, and the open-mouthed interest of his
auditors.

Leaving this window he stole to the
front of the mansion and cautiously peered
through one of the parlor windows from

lieve I'll do a little reconnoitering myself which the light was streaming. He let

and see what's going on."

He went to the door and peered out.
All was dark save for the lights which
shone from the windows of the house
He stole to the first one and looked

his eyes rest for a moment upon the scene
within, and then uttered an exclamation
of rage, while the hot-blood in his veins
boiled with anger at the sight which met
his gaze.

(to be continued.)

WHEN THE OCEANS DISAPPEAR

The First Introduction of Water on the Earth, the Important Part it Plays, and Its
Final Disappearance from the Globe.

By ERNEST VOLK.

ggggSmgATER — What important in this earth's drama ; how common and

If Sf significance this simple yet how necessary to life it is, — more

©1 VV If word carries in its mean- priceless than gold or precious stones.
|wWV0W»ii ing— what volumes could Books tell us "water is a transparent,

MAOMffie be written about this ele- inodorous, tasteless fluid, figured in chem-

ment and the important part it ever plays istry with H20. and considered a com-

14

WHEN THE OCEANS DISAPPEAR.

pound substance, consisting of Hydrogen and
Oxygen in the proportion of two volumes of
the former gas, to one volume of the latter,
or by weight — two parts Hydrogen to sixteen
parts Oxygen "

Few of us but know the value of water and
we know that it circulates through the earth,
covers || of the globe's surface and rises from
the ocean in form of evaporation or gas, forms
clouds and is precipitated upon the earth again
in the shape of rain, but have we ever thought
of its origin; of when or how it was first re-
ceived on the globe, what work it has done, how
it has assisted in completely changing the sur-
face of the earth, taking down hills and creat-
ing valleys and finally, how, when its work is
done, it will disappear from the face of the
earth which it has served so long, so faithfully
and so well ?

These are very interesting questions and a
deeper search into the history of the earth will
enlighten us much, but a long time will elapse
before we have the whole story.

There is no doubt, and sufficient proof may be
had, that the earth was once a glowing ball of
fire, slowly condensing toward the centre and
resembling the sun, the main body, around
which our planetary system is revolving, and
from which it originally sprung and the same
materials as which it still contains.

That it took a long time to cool, after all the
material had been consumed ; also that the
cooling process is still going on in the interior
of the globe, that is, under the surface or crust,
which is only fifty-six to sixty miles thick, and
that the material at that depth is inteusely hot,
has been sufficiently proven by the different bor-
ings for tunnels, mines, and the like. Our vol-
canoes, these safety-valves of the interior, are
a telling factor. But what conditions existed
when the first moisture in shape of water was
received on the globe and what conditions will
prevail when the last drop of the life-giving
fluid leaves it, is not so clear and we can onlv
suppose, from what is known as natural conse-
quences brought forth and by past and present
conditions, what has been and what may begin.
Now let those pictures pass before the mind's
eye in rotation and we may be able to under-
stand approximately.

First we see the glowing globe (our Earth)
in a white heat, surrounded with a vapor, a so-
called nebula, then cooling to a red heat and
finally losing all light only illuminated by the
frequent volcanic eruptions, but being black
heat (as we would term it) the vapor (atmos-
phere) keeping pace in temperature with the
rate of cooling. It is here where the first man-
ifestation of the existence of the union of the

gases, called water was shown or became apparent
as far as the globe was concerned; simply the
atmosphere became laden (heavier), as it cooled
and a precipitation of moisture took place.
Thus the first water was received on the surface
of the globe, in shape of steam and thus envel-
oping the earth (probably for thousands of
years this lasted) until a sufficient amount
remained in the depressions made by the weight
of the water on the thin crust of the young
globe.

In these, yet shallow depressions, filled with
warm water and covered by a thick vapor of
the same originated the first germ of life. The
forms were of a very low grade, it is true, but
the faithful nurse, — warm water — fostered the
growth. Higher forms followed and we find a
luxuriant plant growth, giants of this, trees,
appeared to a heighth of fifty feet they grew,
and more, and to a thickness of several feet;
thickets of plants resembling the scouring rush,
all of a succulent nature, filled with water,
covered the shores of the beautiful lakes, form-
ing a veritable paradise. This is called the
carboniferous or coal age. All this can only
be seen in the mind's eye, for no human being
ever looked upon it, but we can gather positive
proofs in the fossils of these plants, found in
the coal mines, and from the coal beds, which
are the remains, of that flower luxuriant plant
growth.

Now here begins the destruction of the crust
or surface with the help of water. Water, ever
active and in conjunction with the volcanic
forces of the interior which dictated its course,
created new mountains and valleys, caused new
depressions and consequently new oceans.
More precipitations took place, oceans enlarged
and the weight increased. The whole surface
was repeatedly changed, and the bottom of
former oceans became hill tops and vice versa.
Plant growth changed as the water became
colder also the atmosphere, from the low phases
of animal life sprang creatures of a higher
order adapted to the changed conditions. Thus
also extensive territories of the luxuriant vege-
tation were covered by water, whose sediment
carried from high places, formed layer after
layer and became cemented, thus forming rock,
(what is now termed "sedimentary rock")
made by water, differing from' the volcanic
eruption, which, when cooled, forms "igneous
rock" (made by fire), the former being in
layers "stratified" while the latter is never
stratified, but crystaline." Thus the sunken
vegetation was covered which explains the rock
on top of the coal. Still the work of water
goes on unceasingly and we can mark its ac-
tion everywhere. Even now we notice that

THOMAS HOLMES.

15

every freshet that muddies the streams, carries
along thousands of tons of earth, all of which
are taken from the mountains above and carried
down to a lower place and deposited there
where the water finds its level. It has thus, in
its deposit, preserved for us the remains of the
successive creatures who inhabited the surface
of the globe under those various changes from
the lowest form up to the last comer — Man, and
will be active and altering the earth's surface for
ever until the globe shall again unite with the
parent — the sun, and another birth of worlds
take place. Forever?

This was the belief in general, up to a few
years ago, but meanwhile science has also been
active and now, by long patient observations
has found that the bulk of water on the surface
of the globe is really diminishing, continuously
getting less.

This fact was proved by various investiga-
tions where it was found that not evaporation
lessened the water, that very little, if any
water was lost into the universe from the globe,
but that the earth itself was slowly but surely
soaking up, sponge like, the water of the sur-
face. A thorough investigation (as far as possi-
ble) of the rocks in the earth's crust from the
deeper borings so far known, has shown that
they all contain water. Now as the earth's
crust is still not thicker than the shell to the
egg, in comparison, the consume is compara-

tively small, but the crust is gaining at ihe
rate of the cooling of the interior, more water
will be used or soaked in and the quality
increased continually. Thus all the water will
slowly be consumed and conditions and the
surface will steadily and sadly change.

All life depends on water for its existence
and will consequently diminish with the same,
also our atmosphere. The temperature will
leap to eccentricities when no longer modified
by the atmosphere, from a torrid heat during
the day, to that of many degrees below zero,
as soon as the rays of the sun would leave, and
be in the dark, as there will be no twilight.
All of our ocean beds would become briny lakes
and finally when the last drop of water is gone,
the salty surface would almost glow with heat
during the day time, and change at night to
the aspect of the north pole and its tempera-
ture. (Approximate conditions are noticed in
the several deserts on the globe, the present
day.) Thus the earth with the decaying
remains of its former inhabitants would travel
unconcerned and silent to its lonely object,
like the moon, just as lifeless and desolate until
the end of this planetary system would arrive,
when new unions will again be made by the
different substances and new systems be created
as heretofore and as they always will be
in the great endless universe for ever-
lasting.

THE RACE.

By THOMAS HOLMES.

The race was on ! with voice and whip,

Each rider urged his steed
Around the course a score of times,

At most tremendous speed,
And to the end my jockey's horse

Was always in the lead.

With ringing voice he rushes on,

The race is nearly done.
The steed he rides strains every nerve,

This work for him is fun.
One more leap and then — hurrah !

My jockey's horse has won.

My jockey rides his prancing steed
With perfect ease and grace.

My heart beats high with love for him;
I watch his eager face;

It wears a most determined look,
He's bound to win the race.

My bright-faced boy, just three years old,

Was this successful groom ;
The course whereon the race was run

Was in the sitting-room,
And— strange to tell— the horse that won

Was mamma's kitchen broom.

COLONEL ERNEST C. STAHL.

Veteran of the Civil War, orator, editor and all-around good fellow. Not to know the
Colonel is to confess one's self unknown — at least in the city of Trenton. To Colonel Stahl is
due the establishment of the Soldiers' Home at Vineland. While Department Commander of the
G. A. R. he found on his several visits to the Kearney Home that many of the old veterans com-
plained of being separated from their wives, which made their old age tedious and lonely. He
took steps to Temedy the cause of this complaint, and succeeded in having legislative action taken.
A commission was appointed, which finally resulted in the establishment of the home at Vineland,
in 189!), for soldiers, sailors and their wives. By this and other services in the veteran's cause, the
old soldier has earned the eternal gratitude of his comrades of the Grand Army. There are years
fixing their seal on the Colonel's brow, but not in his heart. That is sure in its beat and as
jubilant as ever.

JOHN AUSTIN'S DAUGHTER

By FRANK H. SWEET.

THERE was the usual morning
bustle around the small sta
tion at Finloy. On the plat-
form were long lines of neatly
packed crates and orange boxes, and
among them the owners, with stencils
and paint pots, making sure that their
markings were all right.

Presently there were a roar and a
quiver, and the great engine rushed by
and came to a slow stop as the passen-
ger cars glided opposite the platform.

Among those to alight was a young
girl of seventeen or eighteen, plainly
but expensively dressed, and with a
bright, eager air of expectation. A quick
glance about the platform brought a
shade of disappointment to her face.
After a moment's hesitation she ap-
proached a man in shirt sleeves and
broad, low, flapping hat who was lean-
ing against some orange boxes he had
just finished marking.

"Can you direct me to Mr. John Aus-
tin's place?" she asked.

"Mr.— John— Austin," he repeated re-
flectively. "Why, no, I don't— Oh, yes.
of course— Boozy John." He stopped
abruptly as he noticed the inquiring
look on her face. "I— I— yes, I reckon
I know. Are you some o' his kin?"

"I am his daughter," she replied,
wondering a little at the startled whis-
tle which came to his lips and which
she noticed he choked back apologet-
ically. "I have been at a boarding
school ever since I was a little girl.
This is my first visit to Florida."

"An' does your paw, Mr.— John— Aus-
tin, know you're comin'?"

"No. but I haven't heard from him
in almost a year. Father doesn't like
•to write, but he never allowed my let-
ters to go unanswered so long before.
I feared something might be the mat-
ter with him or the boys, and he
wouldn't tell. I just had to come. I
am so glad that you know him." She
hesitated and then asked in a lower
voice, as though she feared her ques-
tion would be answered in the nega-
tive, "Is he— well?"

"Yes. fur as sickness goes, your paw's
one o' the ruguedes' an' healthies' men
I know. I 'low he an' the boys never
bad a sickness in all their horn davs.

They're puffectly well, all on 'em. I
know, for their place jines mine."

"Why, really?" Her face grew radi-
ant. "Their nearest neighbor! And
you know the boys and all about them?
Dear little fellows! It seems strange
that I should never have seen them.
You see, when we left Iowa father
sent me to the boarding school and
then came south. That was twelve
years ago, and I have been at the
school ever since. Little Tommy is al-
most nine, and Fred— let me see — Fred
is seven. Is the place far?" eagerly.

" 'Bout half a mile."

"Well, of course, I can go with you.
I'll run and see about my baggage and
be back directly. Won't they be sur-
prised?" And, leaving him staring
blankly at a knothole in the platform,
she hurried away to look after her
trunk and valise.

Half a minute passed, then the man
raised his head with a dismal, express-
ive whistle. It was echoed by another,
equally expressive, from the other side
of the orange boxes.

"Waal, you're in it now, for a fact,"
said the owner of the second whistle
sarcastically. "What you goin' to do
'bout it?"

"Lord only knows," groaned the man
in the shirt sleeves. "Reckon mebbe
I'll have to tell her.''

"Reckon mebbe you will." dryly.

"How could I." indignantly, "an' she
almost the same age as my Cindy?
Laud's sake alive, man, d'ye s'pose I
was such a brute as to tell her that
Mr.— John— Austin wa'n't nobody but
Boozy John, not fitten to be father to
nobody, an' that he'd been sent to pris-
on most a year ago for stealin", an' that
the boys was in the poorhouse an' that
the place wa'n't wnth the bringiu' out
of an auctioneer to sell it? For the
land's sake, Thompson, tell me what
am I *n do?" appealingly.

"Jest give it to her straight. That's
■what I'd do. You're too all fired chick-
en hearted, Williams. H'sh! Here she
comes now."

"YTour landscapes are so quaint and
beautiful," she said, with flushed
cheeks and sparkling eyes. "I know I
shall like to live here. Well, I am all

18

JOHN AUSTIN'S DAUGHTER.

ready, can you take my trunk ana
valise in your wagon?"

"Yes," gruffly. He was glad to get
away from her, and be made the work
of transferring the baggage as long as
possible. Somehow he could not bring
himself to tell her the whole brutal
truth. If it had not been his money
that had been stolen and if he had not
been the one who had complained of
the worthless drunkard it would have
been less difficult. He had been sorry

for his justifiable act ever since he
made the complaint, and now— Well,
he would take the girl home to his
wife. She had more tact than he and
would know just what to do.

This mental throwing of the respon-
sibility from his own shoulders brought
back i his natural cheerfulness and
buoyancy, and he smilingly motioned
for the girl to climb into his wagon.

"Ever ride after a mule before?" he
asked as he left the animal's head and
climbed up on the seat beside her.

"No." Then her face grew wistful.
"Do you suppose father and the boys
are at home today?"

"I 'low they won't be there jest right
now," he said evasively. "You see,
they didn't know you was comin'. so

they happen to be off for a spell. But
you mustn't let it put you out any,"
with more animation. "I'll take you
home, an' my wife'll fix you up mighty
comf'table till they git back."

"Thank you. But why can't I go
right to the house and wait for them?
It would be such a surprise."

"No, no!" he objected, with sudden
entreaty. "By no manner o' means.
Bachelor livin' ain't apt to keep a
house fixed up, an' jest now 'tain't in
place for you. I know that. You must
do jest like I say an' come to my house
for a spell."

"Well, if you think best." She was
silent for some time, watching the un-
familiar plants along the roadside and
the curious, bright colored chameleons
that flashed from the warm sand in
front of the mule and disappeared
with marvelous rapidity among the
palmettos.

"Cur'us, ain't they?" said Williams
as he followed her glance. "Jest like a
bit o' rainbow strung on lightnin'. But
they're 'mazin' fine things for pets.
Your brother Freddy used to have one
that would scoot out from some queer
hidiii' place whenever he'd whistle.
Great hand. Freddy, for pets."

At the mention of Freddy she lost
interest in the plants and chameleons
and turned to him with a tender, trem-
ulous smile on her lips.

"It will be so pleasant to have one's
own folks to live with," she said softly.
"They were all nice to me at the
school, but none of them belonged to
me. It will be almost like— like heaven
to live in the same house with father
and the boys."

Williams reached out and struck his
mule viciously, but she did not notice.

"I suppose everybody round here
likes father, he is such a good man,"
she went on in a tone that was an as-
sertion rather than a question.

"He kept you to school pretty
steady," returned her companion. "I
knew he had a gal up north, but had
an idee she was stayin' 'mong her kin."

"Father has done everything for vje
— everything," said the girl, with a ten-
der light in her big gray eyes. "He
was not rich, for he once wrote that I
might have to wait a few days for my
year's tuition, as money was hard to
get. But it came the very next day,
and lie always sent me plenty for
bonks and dresses and everything I
wanted. He wrote for me never to
stint myself on anything and that after
I graduated I was on no account to

FRANK H. SWEET.

19

come nome, but to Keep on witn my
music and drawing and other studies,
and when I had learned all I could at
the school he was going to send me to
Europe to learn more. Dear, dear fa-
ther! I hope I may be able to make it
up to him some time."

Williams gave a quick sidelong glance
at the earnest face and then gazed
steadfastly at the road ahead. He had
known Boozy John for eight years and
could not remember a single redeem-
ing feature about the man. He was
erratic, shiftless and utterly Irresponsi-
ble. His life was one long spree that
reeled between absolute drunkenness
and semi-intoxication! But he was a
good lawyer and fine scholar and even
in his partial stupor was able to pick
up a good deal of money about the
courts and in other ways. People sup-
posed that all this money went to the
dramshops, and the supposition made
tnem regard tne man witn extreme ens-
gust, for his house was a mere hovel
and his boys wholly neglected and un-
cared for.

When they reached the vine covered
cottage in front of his orange grove he
carried in the trunk and valise and
presently called his wife aside and
made a whispered explanation. Then
he went to the barn to unharness his
.mule. But he made a much longer
job of it than was necessary, and when
it was finished he leaned upon his fence
and gazed with unobservant eyes at
his fields of sweet potatoes and pine-
apples and bananas. His wife came to
him there.

"Did you tell her?" he asked.

"Yes," in a low voice. He noticed
that her lips trembled.

"Take it hard?"

"She's high strung. Jim, an' that
kind o' folks mostly take things hard,
but they don't make a show. She
wouldn't h'lieve me at first, an' when
she did she turned white an' stared at
nothin' till I— I jest bust out cryin'
myself. Seemed like I never felt so
sorry for anybody in all my life."

The two stood there nearly half an
hour; then the girl left the house ajid
passed down the road on the opposite
side of the fence.

"She's goin' over to look at her house
now," said Mrs. Williams in a low
voice. "I told her 'twan't fit to live in,
but she said they'd lived in it an' she
could. An' when I told her as how we
'lowed on keepin' her awhile she jest
thanked me an' shook her head."

When the gjrl came back they were

on the piazza. She went directly to
Williams.

"When does my father come home?"
she asked.

"His time's out— er— that is, he'll
come home in 'bout three months."

"And how much does he owe you?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin* at all," hastily.

•'How much does he owe you?" the
girl repeated in a tone that he felt
could not be disregarded.

"Waal, $50. But you needn't bother
'bout payin' it."

"I cannot just at present, but every-
thing must be straightened out before
father comes home. There must not be
a single thing to worry him. And now

can I get you to go after my brothers?
I shall fix up the house, and we will
live there until father comes."

"It's quite a long drive," said Wil-
liams reflectively. "I can go tomor-
row."

"That will do." She stood gazing out
at the vista of pines and palmettos
afforded by an opening in the clamber-
ing vines, her face white and stricken,
but calm with a strong, determined
purpose.

"What kind of employment is there
here for girls?" she asked.

20

THE TOBACCONIST'S REVENGE.

Williams looked dubious.

"I don't reckon there's any," he
answered. "Stores gen'rally git men
clerks, an' there's ten applicants to one
job. Folks round here don't hire much
help."

"I must have work now. Father must
not find anything against him when he
comes home. Do you think I can get
washing?"

Mrs. Williams looked at her blankly.

"It's darkies' work," she objected.

"It's work that I will do gladly if I
can get it," a sudden passionate sob
bringing the color back to her cheeks.
"I will scrub floors— anything that will
help father a little. He has been work-
ing and making sacrifices for years
that I might remain at school, and I—
I never suspected. I ought to have
been here, watching him and caring
for him and the boys."

It was nearly two months later before
Williams again encountered Thompson
on the station ulatform.

"Waal, how'd ye make out with Boozy
John's fine darter?" Thompson asked.

Williams looked up from the box he
was marking.

"That's jest what she is," he said—
"Boozy John's fine darter. I've been
round with her consider' ble lately;
down to the prison twice to see her
paw an' took her to town several times
in my waggin. At first her paw was
all broke up— never wanted her to
know how low down he was, I s'pose.
But she brought him round, an' now
he can't keep his eyes off her when
she's nigh. Soon's he's out they're
goin' over an' take up a homestead In
Hernandy county, twenty miles or
more from town, I b'lieve, on account
o' his failin', and I reckon she or the
boys '11 do all the tradin'. Boozy John
ain't much of a man an' never can be,
but I tell you," impressively, "jest all
the man there is in him that gal's go-
in' to bring out. Mark my words on
that."

THE TOBACCONIST'S REVENGE.

By HOWARD FIELDING

FRANK CLIFFORD was heir to
a large estate, and his uncle,
Duncan Clifford, was trustee,
with power to do about as he
pleased. I had never met the uncle,
but he had been described to me as a
strange animal, part mule and part
monkey, incredibly obstinate, yet fan-
tastically unstable of purpose. One
day I received an earnest request from
Frank to meet him that evening in
Branford, N. J., where his uncle lived.

We were to meet in a little hotel at
10 o'clock, and as my train arrived be-
fore 9 I decided to view the quaint old
town by the light of the moon. One
small white building I was led to no-
tice particularly.

It must once have been the village
schoolhouse, but was now a millinery
store kept by a Mrs. Esther Wilson, as
the sign informed me. I ventured to
guess that Mrs. Wilson lived over her
store, for there was a light in the
gable window, from which, as I glanc-
ed up, the curtain was pushed partly
away, revealing a woman, who dodged
back as if alarmed. It is a curious cir-
cumstance that I happened to notice in
the hand with which she awkwardly

thrust aside the curtain a small drink-
ing glass.

Taking a few more steps, I came in

view or an exterior stairway oy wnicd
the second story of the house was
reached, and at the foot of the stairs
there was a man seated.

This man's attitude, coupled with
my glimpse of the wineglass, conveyed
a very unpleasant suggestion. This in-
ert figure might be Mr. Wilson, a
drunkard and a squanderer of the lit-
tle milliner's meager earnings, and it
was with this idea in mind that I ap-
proached him and laid my hand, not
very gently, upon his shoulder. At the
touch he slid down sidelong and lay
at my feet, and I knew at a glance
that he was dead.

He was past fifty years of age and
of distinguished appearance, but the
countenance was marred by an irri-
table, hostile expression.

The street was well nigh deserted,
doubtless because of the unusual cold.
The neighboring stores were closed,
except for a tobacconist's, which I had
noticed because the proprietor seemed
to be the village jeweler also, and I
had thought the combination odd. It
seemed best to carry the body to that
store, and I had set myself to the task
when the door at the head of the stairs
opened, and Mrs. Wilson, as I rightly
guessed, came out hurriedly. She saw
me hoisting up this dead man in my

HOWARD FIELDING.

21

nrrns, aim sne screamed.

"The man is ill." said I. "Do you
know who he is?"

She had uttered only a single cry.
Now she stood stock still, staring down
at me.

"I am going to take him into the
tobacco store." said I.

"No!" She spoke the single word
and then chocked herself as with an
effort.

The voice, though heard in so brief
and strained an utterance, increased
my vague impression of recognition,
'out the dead man was becoming heavy
in my arms, and I decided to follow
my original purpose. It was only a
few steps to the store, but nearly a
score of people gathered about me be-
fore I traversed the distance. Some
one opened the door, and that was all
the help I received.

The tobacconist-jeweler was not
there, having run out perhaps at the

I KNEW AT A GLANCE THAT HE WAS DEAD.

sound of the woman's scream. I laid
my burden upon the floor, and instant-
ly half a dozen voices cried out:
"It's Duncan Clifford!"

At this there appeared upon the
scene a tall, soldierly man. with a
drooping blond mustache and a blue
cap with gilt insignia, the city mar-
shal. Captain Ford. lie asked me a
few rapid questions, which I thought
very intelligent, and then, asking me
to remain beside the body, he depart-
ed. He was gone perhaps five minutes,
and nothing of consequence happened
in my observation during his absence,
but I had a great surprise when he
returned, for he brought with him the
milliner, wnom 1 instantly recognized
as a young woman named Esther War-
reu. She had been employed in my
office up to four months ago, when she
had given up her position.

Before we could exchange a word,
even of ordinary greeting, the marshal
detached us from the increasing throng
and drove us gently into a private room
at the back of the store.

"Now," said he, turning to us, "you
two people know each other. I saw
that at a glance. Who are you?"

"Who am I?" asked the young wo-
man.

"Yes," said he. "You are supposed
to be Mrs. Wilson. No one in this town
knows anything about you. Where
did you come from? Who is Mr. Wil-
son, and where is he? Where did you
get the money with which you opened
this store?"

"I decline to answer these questions,"
she said.

"So I supposed," said he without a
trace of annoyance. "That's why I
asked them all at once. But you don't
deny that Clifford had been calling on
you and was taken sick up there?"

"No, I don't deny it."

"Did you give him anything to eat or
drink?"

"No."

As she made this reply my memory
flashed at once to the glimpse of her
that I had had at the window, but
eveu without the sight of the wine-
glass I should have known that she
was not telling the truth.

"Did he say what seemed to be the
matter with him?"

"Yes; he was faint. He thought it
was the cigar that he wTas smoking.
He said his lips felt numb."

"I thought they looked queer," said
Ford. "Here's the cigar," showing us
half of a very small one. "I found it
in his pocket. He was going to have
it examined, I suppose. Well, I'll do
that, but it's poisoned sure enough.
Now." lie continued uointmir his tinker

22

THE TOBACCONIST'S REVENGE.

at the girl, "to whose advantage is this
man's death— to whose advantage?"

"I beg your pardon," said I. "Is this
young lady under arrest?"

At this moment a hasty hand was
laid upon the knob of the door which
communicated with the shop.

"You can't come in," said the mar-
shal, but he was mistaken. The lock
of the door burst with a rattle of splin-
ters, and Frank Clifford precipitated
himself into the room.

"Can't come in, eh?" said he. "What
do you think about it now?"

He strode across to the little milliner
and, standing beside her, glared at the
marshal, who had not risen from his
chair or even paused in caressing his
silky mustache.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Clifford," said
he, speaking through his hand. "Have
a seat and tell us where you got this
cigar that you gave to your uncle."

Before he could reply the young wo-
man stepped in front of him, and she
was a picture. I had always thought
her beautiful, but in a somewhat tepid
style. She was quite a different crea-
ture now.

"Mr. Clifford— Mr. Duncan Clifford-
got that cigar here in this store," she
cried. "He told me so."

The marshal rose aud stepped to the
broken door, now guarded on the out-
side by some serviceable citizen who
had appointed himself deputy.

"Send Edgeworth in here," said the
marshal, but it appeared that the to-
bacconist-jeweler was not present. No
one knew what had become of him.

"Ah, he told you so!" said the mar-
shal, turning to the milliner and calm-
ly resuming the conversation. "How
did he happen to do that?"

"I don't remember," she answered,
"but if the cigar was poisoned I know
why. Mr. Edgeworth has annoyed me
beyond endurance with his attentions.
He knew that Mr. Duncan Clifford
came to see me often. He believed that
I preferred Mr. Clifford, and he hated
him insanely."

"So Mr. Clifford used to come to see
you? Why?"

"To persuade me to go away," was
the reply. "He offered me money. He
was trying to separate me from
Frank."

"To give up Frank?" said the mar-
shal. "What are you to him?"

"I am his wife," she answered, "but
Mr. Clifford did not know it."

"And if he had known it Frank
might have lost half a million dollars.
I see."

The entrance of Mr. Edgeworth in-
terrupted this line of questioning.

"Ah, Edgeworth; good evening," said
the marshal.

"Good evening, Captain Ford," re-
sponded the tobacconist in a deep,
heavy voice that sounded strange from
his narrow chest and thin lips.

"WThen did you sell this cigar to
Duncan Clifford?" asked Ford.

The tobacconist took the half con-
sumed cigar and examined it in the
manner of an expert.

"I never carried these goods," he
said. "It's a sort of large tobacco ciga-
rette, sold eight in a box— a little tin
box. I think they're called the Mar-
quis."

The marshal turned to Frank.

"Give me your cigar case or what-
ever yon carry them in," said he.

"You have no authority," Frank be-
gan.

"Haven't I?" retorted Ford, drawing
a revolver. "You are under arrest.
We'll search you at the station, and I
know what we'll find."

"Wait one moment," said Frank,
with more calmness than I should have
expected of so excitable a man. "I
will admit that I gave that cigar to my
uncle after dinner and another like it
this evening. I do not believe that it
Is poisoned. Of course it isn't. I had
nothing to do with this crime, if it is
a crime, and"—

"I gave him wine in my room," cried
Esther, panic stricken with fear for
the man she loved. "The bottle has
been uncorked, where any one— this
man"— She finished the sentence by
a wild gesture toward Edsreworth.

"Clifford was ill before you gave him
the wine," said the marshal. "You told
us so, and you were idling the truth
too. Sit down, all of you."

Presently a man, red faced and
breathless, burst into the room.

"He went home an' changed his
clothes!" cried this fellow in gasps.
"His other clothes was all wet. Wo
found 'em."

The marshal turned slowly toward
Edgeworth.

"I missed you," said he. "It seemed
queer. So I sent this man to see about
it. How did your other suit of clothes
get wet?"

There was a long moment of silence;
then Edgeworth sprang at the marshal
as quick as a flash. Ford turned for a
clinch and half rose, but Edgeworth
dodged and flung himself against a

HOWARD FIELDING.

23

small table on which were the mar-
shal's revolver and a lamp that was
the only light of the room. There was
a great crash and then darkness, with
the noise of an indiscriminate strug-
gle. Ford, his messenger. Frank and
myself were all in a grapple, while
Edgeworth, the object of our efforts,
eluded us in the room, which he knew
better than we did, a»d escaped by a
stairway to a loft, from a window of
which he dropped into the yard. But
why had he fled?

The clew that helped us was the wet
clothes, for tbey suggested the canal.
We got lanterns and went out through
the yard at the rear of Edgeworth's
store and came to the canal's bank.
There was about half an inch of ice
on the water, but at one point it was
broken for a distance of ten feet out-
ward, as if some one had plunged in.
A suicidal attempt? Then why had the
man come out again?

The riddle was not read until the
next day, when a thorough examina-
tion of this spot resulted in bringing
up from the bottom of the canal a
metal cigar cutter such as one sees
upon tobacconists' counters. The cigar
is inserted into a little trap, and a
knife blade, actuated by a spring, cuts
off the end.

To this common contrivance Edge-
worth had added a sort of syringe
which his skill with tools enabled him
to make in a manner that I am tempt-
ed to call admirable. This syringe in-
jected into the cigar a sufficient quan-
tity of a tasteless, deadly poison.
Edgeworth had doubtless kept this ma-
chine for many days, waiting for Clif-
ford to come to his store alone. Doubt-
less also he bided the time when Clif-
ford should be lighting one of his own
cigars bought in some other place.

The occasion served him well on this
particular evening. Clifford had finish-
ed one of his nephew's little cigars and
was about to light the other when he
came abreast of Edgeworth's store on
his way to see the milliner. No one
else was present. The fatal contriv-
ance was cleverly put in the right
place, and the victim's death resulted
in the manner described.

Esther's loud cry reached Edge-
worth's ears, and he guessed its mean-
ing. Momentarily panic stricken, he
ran to throw the cigar cutter into the
canal, but the ice was much thicker
than he supposed, and it upheld the
fatal evidence for all men's sight.
Edgeworth tried to crawl out on the

ice anu crasiieu rnrougn. He succeed-
ed in sinking the box and regaining
the shore, but he dared not show him-
self in his wet clothes, so he ran home
and changed them and hazarded a re-
turn.

This we conjectured, and Edge-
worth's confession confirmed it. He
was captured a week later in a hos-
pital in Wilmington, Del., where he
died of pneumonia, resulting perhaps
from his wetting in the canal.

From Frank Clifford I obtained the
remainder of the story. Unknown to
me. he had fallen in love with Miss
Warren and secretly married her.
Then, with some wild idea of permit-
ting her oiiarms and virtues to be
known in Branford and thus winning
his uncle's consent to the marriage, he
had bought the little millinery store
for her. But Uncle Duncan proved a
hard man to win over. He guessed a
part of the secret and would not hear
of an alliance with "Mrs. Wilson." In
this state of affairs the foolish young
lovers decided to confess to me and
seek my advice, and that was the rea-
son wrhy I was summoned to Branford
in time to behold the catastrophe.

Duncan Clifford died without a will.
His death gave Frank control of his
own property that had been in trust
and also nearly all of his uncle's large
fortune.

Some Trentonians and their Coats of Arms.

( Continued from January number. )
(concluded.)

S N O W D E N

W H A RTO N

TOWN SEND

H OLCOMBE

THE SNOWDENS of Maryland,
Pennsylvania and New Jersey
claim common descent from Rich-
ard Snowden, the original emigrant, who
is said to have held a commission under
Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector. His
family is one of the oldest allying itself
with the Quaker emigration to America.
The Wharton family is distinctly represen-
tative of the best elements among the
Society of Friends. Its members con-
spicuous for wealth and exclusiveness of
social position have occupied prominent
places in government, particularly in Phila-
delphia. The name has been limited to
the Delaware Valley and Western Penn-
sylvania.

Of the Quaker stock are the Town-
sends, of Long Island, and the Southern
portion of this State. Some of the mem-
bers of this family in Trenton are de-
scended from John Townsend, first high

sheriff of the county of Cape May and a
large land owner. Another name largely
allied with Trenton interests is that of
Holcombe. This family is numerously
connected with the settling families of old
Hunterdon county, while another branch
of this stock is prominent throughout
New England.

In concluding this series of coats of
arms of Trenton families it may be said
that selections have been made along
various lines to show divergencies of
family names rather than to pay a compli-
ment to any particular patronymic. In
some cases, the family name is practically
extinct*, or is represented by married
women. Thus their own names have
become lost, except by perpetuation in
the so-called "given name" of their chil-
dren. The list could be extended, and at
some future period may be done so by

The Heraldist.

EASTER AT SPRUCE HILL.

By FRANK H. SWEET.

NEW minister had come to

/{}\ slow moving, out of the way
Spruce Hill, an# with his com-
ing had appeared a spirit of
change and improvement.

He was fresh from his theological
course and eager with youth and love
for the work and with advanced ideas
about music and active co-operation of
the young people. Hitherto the church
had been to them a place of solemnity,
only to be visited at required intervals
and as a scarcely to be avoided duty.
Now, under the ministrations of this
young zealot, it gradually came to th"n
that duty could be approached from
many directions and that not all oi
them were necessarily thorny and nar-
row. A choir was formed and a sing
ing class started to stimulate and en-
courage greater proficiency; then came
a Bible class, in which the lessons were
presented in a way to encourage inter-
est, and a Christian Endeavor society
that brought out the young people. At
Christmas there was an entertainment
with much singing, and during the
winter there were praise services and
social gatherings, and in June a ser-
mon especially for the children, and
through the summer and fall picnics
and outings that brought all the people
together and kept their interest in the
church undiminished.

Among the other innovations were
the Easter sermon and church decora-
tion. The new minister made the an-
nouncement one Thursday evening aft-
er prayer meeting and added that he
hoped all would be present and that
the ladies of the church would arrange
for a tasteful and appropriate dec'ora-
tion.

After service the women stood about
irresolutely, looking at each other with
blank, questioning eyes. Spruce Hill
was undeniably on the road toward
prosperity, but its people had not yet
loosened their grasp on the labor that
was bearing them there. Every wo-
man and girl of the community, from
the eight year mite who washed dishes
and "chored" to the white haired
grandmother knitting in the corner.
had duties for each hour of the day. It
was the natural condition of the hard.

unsocial life winch had taught them to
value the practical and substantial and
remain ignorant of much that was
beautiful anil sweet. They had little
time for flowers and, besides the lilac
bushes and "popcorns" in their yards
and a few such perennials as lilies and
phlox and daffodils and perhaps a ge-
ranium or calla in their kitchen win-
dows, had Uterally nothing for even an
outdoor summer display, much less. for
a church decoration at Easter. And
even had there been a profusion of
flowers they would have been scarcely
less dismayed. The mere thought of
decorating a church would have ap-
palled them.

"I guess you'll have to excuse me.
Mr. Kent," one of them said at last
bluntly. "I haven't any flowers except
one geranium which don't bloom, an",
besides, I don't know anything about
decoratin' an' ain't got no time either.'"

"Nor me," "Nor me." "Nor me,"
came in rapid succession and with evi-
dent relief from the other women.

"Oh, com . come; this will never do'."
expostulated the minister decidedly.
"Surely each of you can spare a little
time from work. I will help with th !
lifting and carrying, and there are sev-
eral boys in my class who will do what
they can. Let us all join together and
make it a grand success."

"We can't decorate without flowers,"
spoke up another woman convincingly,
"an' I don't believe there's half a dozen
blooinin' plants in the whole neighbor-
hood. 'Taln't time yet for flowers to
bloom.*

"Can't we find a few callas and
Easter lilies, narcissuses and perhaps
a few other white flowers?" with less
confidence in his voice. "Palms would
suit me best for a background, but as
we cannot get them we can use green
boughs and pussy willows and other
things from the woods."

"All the houses in the neighborhood
can't scare up white posies enough
for a buttonhole bouquet," declared a
third woman aggressively. "As for
Easter lilies, I ain't never seen one,
and narcissus I ain't even heard of.
*ih • idea o' decoratin' a wnoie church
this time o' year!"

"I've heard Mis' lirav sneak o' nar-

FRANK H. SWEET.

27

clssus," said a woman reflectively,
"she that was the florist's wife, you
know. An', come to think, she's likely
a master hand at this decoratin' busi-
ness. She has .spoke o' seem' big city
churches filled with flowers."

"Mis' Bray— ain't she dead?" ques-
tioned another. "I ain't heard her
name afore in years. But there! I
know she ain't. I'd 'a' seen the notice
in the Articulator."

"Who is Mrs. Bray, and where is she
to be found?" asked the minister quick-
ly. "Perhaps she can help me out
with this. Curious I have not heard
of her before."

"Oh, I don't know." dryly; "folks sort
o' die away from the world after they
enter a poorhouse. Mis' Bray's hus-
band was for gettiu' on, so he went
to the city an' learned the florist's
trade. For a time he done well; then
his business broke, an' he died, an' his
wife came back here an' lived up what
little she had. After that there was
nothin' but the poorhouse. Now, I've
always held a poorhouse was stronger
than a grave for hidin' folks."

"Well, we will find her," eagerly.
"Perhaps she will lie able to give us
some assistance or advice. Will you
go with me, Mrs. Perry?"

The woman hesitated a little, then
threw back her head with sudden de-
cision.

"Why, yes, I don't mind if I do.
Cynthia Bray was as much of a lady
as anybody round, an' I don't know as
a poorhouse is the worst thing in the
world. Still, while it wa'n't her fault
goin' there, it'.* hardly to be expected
folks will keep on visitin' just the
same as though she was in some other
place."

The next afternoon the minister's
buckboard paused in front of the poor-
house, and he and Mrs. Perry alighted.
Several men and boys were slouching
about the yard, and on a bench near
the door were four or five old women.
Mrs. Perry looked them over critically.

"Not there," she declared concisely.
"Cynthia wouldn't grow to look like
them. We'll ga in."

In answer to their knock a harsh
featured woman came to the door. A
ring of keys dangled from her waist.

"Mis' Bray?" she repeated in answer
to their question. "Oh, Aunt Cynthia
we call her. No, she ain't here; she's
inside. You see, we have to get as
much work from the paupers as we
can. Most of them are lazy an' no
'count but now an' then we find a good

worker. Aunt Cynthia's one, so we
keep her in the kitchen. She scasely
ever gits to this side o' the house. I
don't s'pose she's really lead a visitor
afore in five years. Won't you come
In?"

They entered, and after a long and
detailed account of her trials with the
paupers the woman went through a
door toward the back part of the
house. Another five minutes passed;
then a little old woman with a bright,
deprecatory manner stole softly into
the room.

"Did— did you wish to see me?" she
asked tremulously and a little wonder-
iugl.v.

Mrs. Perry sprang forward in quick
forgetfulness of the immeasurable dis-
tance which lay between her social po-
sition aud the poorhouse.

"Why, you poor soul!" she cried sym-
pathetically. "How old you've grown!
My hair ain't begun to turn yet, an'
here your'n is perfectly white, an' still
I believe I'm two months the oldest."

"It's been a long time since you and
I were young, deary," answered the
old woman gently. "Such a weary
time, it seems as if my hair was al-
ways white." Then she colored with
sudden remembrance and drew herself
up stiffly.

"Is there anything you wanted me
for, Mrs. Perry— anything I can do for
you ?" she asked.

"Come, Cynthia, don't talk that
way." remonstrated Mrs. Perry. "You
know farmers' wives are always work-
in', an'— an' it's a good piece from our
place to the" —

"Poorhouse." said the old woman
calmly.

"Well, yes, poorhouse," deprecating-
ly. "An', besides, folks give up old
customs as they git on in years. I
don't call anywhere as much as I used
to. But never mind that," briskly.
"I'm callin' today, an' I've brung the
minister. Do you know him?"

"I don't think I've had the pleasure
of meeting Mrs. Bray before," said the
minister, rising, "and yet I have call-
ed here several times."

"No, we haven't met," acquiesced the
old woman. "I generally stay in the
kitchen."

He held her hand for a moment.

"I must acknowledge this visit is
mostly a business one, Mrs. Bray," he
said, resuming his seat. "You see, I
am planning to have the church deco-
rated for Easter, but the ladies of my
congregation, including Mrs. Perry

28

EASTER AT SPRUCE HILL.

nere, nssnre me mat sncn a inin£ is
utterly impossible— in short, that they
cannot undertake the work and that
there are no flowers to undertake it
with. I have come to you as a last re-
sort. Can you help me?"

The old woman, who had not had a
caller in Ave years, looked from one
to the other with a sudden yearning in
her tender old eyes. It was as though
she questioned the possibility of the
world still having use for her. Then a
soft flush began to steal over her face.

"It isn't easy to decorate without
anything to decorate with," she said
tremulously. "In the city we used to
have palms and Easter lilies and no
end of ferns and delicate things to
bank with."

"But there are the woods," suggested
the minister desperately. "I notice lots
of pretty things on my walks."

"Yes, the woods are beautiful around
here in the spring. I notice them from
the kitchen windows, and sometimes,
before anybody is up, I take short
walks." H«r bands were still trem-
bling, but into ner race was coming an
expression which Mrs. Perry remem-
bered to have belonged to her old days,
before the long stifling experience of
poorhonse servitude.

"Do you mean for me to take charge
of the decorating," she asked, "to do
It in my own way?"

"Yes, but of course with plenty of
help. I don't know much about ar-
ranging flowers myself."

He turned hastily and glanced
through the window. Something in the
wistful, even rapturous expression on
the old woman's face made him lose
command of himself for a moment.

"Well, I shall need help in gathering
the decorations," she was saying as he
turned back. "There will be things to
cut and bring home and boxes and
boards to build up for the banking.
Yes, I think we can do it very nicely.
There are some bushes along the creek
that I can fix up to look very much
iike palms at a little distance, and that
dark moss below the ledge will make
a beautiful bank, on which we can ar-
range the early white flowers which
are beginning to bloom on the hillsides.
Then there are the pussy willows and
early ferns and lots of other things
that can be used with good effect. Yes,
indeed, we can make a charming deco-
ration with what the woods and fields
win rurnisn. iiut mere!" breaking into
u low. joyous laush which aunareutly

frightened her, tor she stopped sud-
denly and looked about in a scared,
tremulous sort of way. "I was only

about to say," she went on deprecat-
ingly, "that I haven't seen the church
yet. I must go there and look around
so as to get an idea of what sort of
decoration will be most appropriate."

"Of course; we will take you there
this afternoon," volunteered the minis-
ter beamingly.

"An' you can have my horse an'
wagon every afternoon if you like,"
added Mrs. Perry warmly. "Then there
is my son Tommy. You can have him
to drive you an' to do your gatherin'
an' liftin'. Why, really, I almost feel
as though I would like to leave work
an' join in the fun myself."

The old woman's face was now ab-
solutely radiant.

"It will be beautiful," she murmured,
"as the world seemed when I was
young."

She was not thinking of the decora-
tion now, but of the beautiful thing ef
not being forgotten that had come so
unexpectedly to her.

"Yes, it will be beautiful," she re-
peated. "God is good to have remem-
bered me so lovingly."

The minister gazed at her a moment
and then turned again to the window.

"There will be no failure in the
church decoration," he remarked to
Mrs. Perry.

Nor was there, nor in the beautiful
thing that had come to the little old
woman. During the decoration she
was like a different creature, and her
face came to be scarcely recognizable
as that which had looked so deprecat-
ingly at them that afternoon in the
poorhouse. When it was all over the
minister went to her impulsively and
grasped both her hands.

"1 cannot tell you how much you
have helped me," he said earnestly.
"The decoration has been a perfect
success, and it is all owing to you.
But there is another thing I wish to
speak about. My housekeeper is going
to leave, and I need some one to take
her place. Will you come and look
after the parsonage— and me, too, for
that matter?" with one of his frank
boyish smiles. "My mother always
said I wasn't capable of looking after
my clothes and such things. I will try
not to tax you too severely."

So the beautiful thing which had
come to her was not of a day, but was
to last through all the remainder of
her years.

/=» e: a

"Look, who we have here!" Hoot nion, dinna ye ken, 'tis the mickle laird
o'court, Judge Matheson.

It is rarely tha one sees, outside the land of weeping clouds and cakes and oats,
a real live judge, kilted and bare kneed, with bagpipes in hand. But aside from his
picturesqueness, John Matheson has made a good judge, a tower of strength for the
innocent and a terror to evil doers.

A QUADRUPED HERO.

By GEORGE E. WALSH.

THIS isn't a dog sta. ; , but, cotne
to think of it, a little brindly
mongrel cur figu-es piv..£y
prominently in it. Jock nev-
er posed as a hero, and I g-uess he i*>n't
one. I've seen him run from a bigger
dog, yelping for dear life and curling
that tail between his legs like an os-
trich burying its head in the sand.

Jock simply came to me. and I tol-
erated bim because he showed so much
affection for a forlorn, homesick engi-
neer doing duty in a distant land.

Jock and I went everywhere, slept
together, ate together and tramped the
country like two old outcasts. But be
wasn't good for much else than a com-
panion. He was too lazy to keep
awake at night to watch out for dan-
ger and too big a coward to stand be-
tween me and another man or animal.

When I was commissioned to inspect
the new docks and piers that the gov-
ernment was having built in Manila
bay Jock ami I prepared for sundry
little excursions along as pretty a
coast as any man laid eyes on.

On the fifth day out from Manila
we reached the new government dock,
where heavy supplies for the army
were to be landed for shipment to the
interior. This was a large wooden
affair running 500 feet into the bay.
The contractors had just finished their
work, and the government was waiting
for my final report before accepting it.

The dock was firmly built of huge
piles driven into the soft mud and sand
and boarded up on both sides to keep
the floating debris from collecting un-
der it. There was an entrance under
the dock at the extreme end, but one
could enter it only at low tide.

It was a very hot day, and after
making a close examination of the
dock I decided at noon to eat lunch
under the cool shade of the mammoth
wooden floor and then take a nap.

Jock made no objection to this un-
spoken proposition, but wagged his tail
with intuitive appreciation of my
plans. I pushed the small, flat bottom-
ed boat which carried our day's sup-
plies under the dock and proceeded to
enjoy myself.

The tide was very low, and I uusbed

the boat halfway up the shelving shore
and left it with anchor thrown over
the bow. Jock ate all the dinner I
could not swallow and then patiently
snuggled up to my side and blinked his
eyes sleepily.

The place was very conducive to
slumber, and I was soon fast asleep,
and Jock was no better off. We must
have slept for hours. I woke with a
start and found darkness around us.

For a few moments I was too puz-
zled to make out my position. I could
not believe that night was upon us, for
It had been high noon when I lay down
to rest. This impression was confirmed
by a few stray beams of light filtering
through the roof over my head.

Jock at first sleepily wagged his tail.
Then, scenting danger, he whined and
sniffed the air. I, too, was beginning
to feel the presence of some evil.

When fully awake and mental facul-
ties alert. I comprehended the danger
of our situation at a glance. The tide
had risen rapidly, and the entrance un-
der the dock had been closed to us.
The light which had flooded the place
when we went asleep was thus shut
out, and we were dependent upon a
few feeble rays that made their way
between cracks in the boards overhead.
"Hello. Jock! We're in a pickle!" 1
exclaimed.

Jock wagged his tail and tried to
bark, but it only ended in a mournful
whine.

"You little coward," 1 added in dis-
gust. "You're a brave one to give a
man moral courage!"

But I had little time to devote to
moralizing or lecturing. I knew that
the tide frequently rose to an extreme
level, and I remembered that a series
of unusually high tides had been run-
ning into the bay. If the water rose
up to a level with the lower floor of
the dock the situation would become
very serious for both of us.

Now, I'm a fresh water man, hailing
from one of the inland states where a
puddle of water up to the ankles la
considered a lake and a stream three
feel deep a river of mighty volume.
Therefore, 1 confess with shame, I
hadn't learned the gentle art of swim-
ming.

GEORGE E WALSH.

31

I pushed the boat toward the end
of the pier, bumping my head repeated-
ly against the boards overhead. There,
ten feet below the surface. I could see
a path of light win--1* showed rue where
the entrance to oui prison was located.
A good diver and swimmer could easily
reach it anr' come up on the other side.

Jock looked down and wagged his
tail. Inviting me t> dive. It was dog
talk just as plain as day. I smiled
with chagriu and ~ -iok my head.

I was not a kind to die easily, and
while I had a few minutes of respite
I exhausted every possible study of the
situation. I pushed around the piles
and shook the boards, hoping to find
one loose, but the contractors had per-
formed their work well.

There was no use calling for help,
for there was no possibility of any one
being within five miles of the place.
So I didn't waste much strength in
that way.

There was only three feet of space
between the boat and the boards over-
head. At the rate the tide was rising I
should have neearly an hour before the
climax could be reached. I tried to
console myself with the thought that I
was safe. The water would force the
boat up toward the roof, but by lying
down in it we could wait for the turn
of the tide. I took measurements and
found that with six inches of space we
could escape if we took care not to
rock the boat.

On the other hand, if the water crept
up beyond that point the boat would
be swamped, and I would have no
choice other than to sink like a log.
Jock might swim around and eventual-
ly escape, but for me there was no
escape.

The thought of such an end sent the
cold shivers down my spine. It was
difficult to sit there and wait for the
end. I lit my pipe and tried to smoke,
but my courage oozed out slowly, and
twice the pipe went out. Then I put it
away and took another measurement.

I turned pale with apprehension. The
tide had gained a foot and a half. By
aid of the dim light I looked at my
watch. The time for high tide was
still half an hour off.

I realized then that my fate was
sealed. The water would reach to a
level with the floor of the dock, and I
would drown. I tried to picture the
scene of the final struggle. In fancy I
experienced all the sensations of death.

Jock must have been thinking of the
same thing, for he suddenly screw nerv-

ous and excited. He whined and whim-
pered and chased up and down the
boat. I tried to grab him to stifle his
cries, but he avoided me and finally
leaped overboard.

That splash in the water brought
more alarm to me than anything else.
Jock was deserting me, and, like a
drowning man clinging to his support
of straw, I grabbed for the dog to haul
him back.

I must have leaned heavily on the
side of the boat, for it suddenly tipped
and rolled straight over, turning turtle
so quickly that I was in the water be-
fore I could think. Fortunately I had
presence of mind enough to grasp the
sides. I clung to this support and
gasped for breath.

I tried in vain to turn the boat over.
It would have been a stupendous job
in that narrow space for an expert
swimmer; for me it was absolutely im-
possible.

The top of the boat was within a few
inches of the dock overhead, and I
could not climb upon it. I simply
clung to it and shivered. Jock swam
around and around the overturned
craft, whining and begging me to leave
it, but there was no alternative, and I
clung desperately to the slippery bot-
tom.

The water rose inch by inch. First
the bottom of the boat bumped against
the boards overhead; then it was held
firmly in position, and the tide climbed
highe" marking the rise on the sides.

When there was only six Inches of
space in which to breathe I began to
lose all hope. At five inches the lap-
ping waves frequently slapped the
briny water in my mouth. I craned
my head backward, forcing my mouth

32

A QUADRUPED HERO.

and nose as near the boards of the
roof as possible. Jock was by my side
(loins the same.

But. he took it less silently and calm-
ly. He sphittered and whined and
made frantic efforts to bore his nose
thromrh the obdurate boards. I wag,
fast losing control of my muscles, for
horrible fear was paralyzing my will.
The frantic terror of the drowning
man was taking possession of me.

The water was now filling my mouth
and nostrils with every gentle undula-
tion of the surface. I spluttered and
gasped and made more frantic strug-
gles than Jock.

My senses were deserting me when
Jock suddenly slipped from my side
and disappeared. My first thought
was that the poor dog had succumbed
and was dead. Then I concluded that
he had made a strike for life and lib-
erty at the final moment.

This impression was apparently veri-
fied a moment later. 1 heard Jock's
bark In the distance. The sound was
far away and muffled, but it seemed to
come from overhead. He had escaped!

Then the impossibility of it dawned
upon my mind. There had been no
time for him to dive under the dock
and reach the top of it. But, if not,
the dog had found a place of security.
His natural instinct had led him to
some safe nook which I had over-
looked.

This thought possessed me and
brought renewed hope to my failing
spirit. I would follow Jock's lead and
then yield to the inevitable without a
murmur.

But where was Jock? That puzzled
me. I tried to locate his muffled cry.
ft sounded so near and yet so distant!

Something impelled me to strike out
under the boat with one arm, and my
hand came in contact with something
soft and furry. It was Jock, and had
I not heard his constant and persistent
bark I should have concluded he was
strangling to death under the boat.

A man's wits act quickly in moments
of great danger, or at least they do
sometimes. Mine worked with light-
ning-like rapidity then. I reasoned
that 1 could live where Jock could, and
I plunged my bead under the boat and
grasped upward for support.

I found myself a moment later cling-
ing to the seal of the overturned boat,
with my head bumping against the
bottom, but with more space for
breathing than 1 had enjoyed for some
time. It was total darkness there, but

tQe air was fresh and Invigorating.
Jock was fawning by my side and
whimpering with delight.

I reasoned out the explanation of it
in a flash. In turning over so sudden-
ly the boat had imprisoned a lot of
air, and the rising water had held it.
The bottom and sides of the boat were
both air and water tight. Jock had
found the place of escape either acci-
dentally or. by instinct.

I breathed easier and found my posi-
tion more comfortable. There was a
good six inch space for the head, and
I could rest my elbows under the seat
of the boat. It was all a question now
of whether there was sufficient air to
support the two of us for half an hour
or less. By that time, I judged, the
tide would turn, and we could crawl
out.

The water could not rise up higher
under the boat on account of the im-
prisoned air, but our breathing steadily
exhausted the oxygen of the latter and
added to our discomfort.

My nerves grew tense and snappy,
and my senses began to reel. Jock,
too, ceased to bark and whine. A great
slumber appeared to possess us. How
long we had been there I had no way
to judge, but when my head seemed
ready to split I could stand it no long-
er. I must have fresh afr!

I ducked my head under the gun-
wales of the boat and crawled out.
There was a moment of sputtering and
gasping and then a deep breath of
fresh air that sent the blood tingling
through my whole body.

The tide had turned, and there was
space enough under the dock to live
and breathe in comfort. I filled my
lungs until they ceased their panting.
Then, remembering Jock, I reached un-
der the boat and hauled his nearly life-
less body up to the fresh air.

When the tide fell low enough for us
to crawl upon the bottom of the boat
I flung myself at full length on it and
rested. Jock spread himself out by my
side ready as ever to rest and sleep.

Later I examined the high level of
the tide under the dock and found that
the water had come up to within half
an inch of the boards. No man could
hare lived there, and had not Jock
found the fresh air under the boat
□either of us would be here to testify
to the truthfulness ol' this tale.

But Jock doesn't pose as a hero, and
"I'm not savins that lie is one, but you
must admit \ owe my life to him

AN ARTIST'S LUCK.

By HOWARD FIELDING.

ITAUSED outside the door of Aus-
ten's studio and fixed a dollar
bill so that a corner of it would
stick out of my waistcoat pocket.
There was no use asking him whether
he needed money. He would always
repel the insinuation, even when he
hadn't had any luncheon and was fierce
eyed with hunger. Neither could he be
caught by an open display of coin or
bills, but if a bit of money was in
sight and Austen didn't know that the
owner thereof was aware of it he
would betray his need by occasional
glances full of gentle and pathetic long-
ing.

Let me hasten to say that Austen
was not a failure in the ordinary, old
fashioned way. He used to make a
good living from illustrations, cover
designs and the better kind of potboil-
ing in general, but he had a serious ill-
ness, and while he lay unconscious
ssme of his friends became overanx-
ious and called in too much medical
talent. In the present state of the
world Austen might better have died,
perhaps, than have contracted such a
heavy debt. He paid it and hadn't a
penny with which to begin work.

Conditions have changed in the last
ten or fifteen years, and capital is es-
sential to the artist. Life presses him
so hard that he can't both work and
live unless he has money in the bank
or enjoys some form of special favor
from those who have. Otherwise he
will be like a swimmer in an undertow
—the Lest that he can hope for is to
keep his nose above water.

When I entered the studio, Austen
was admiring the last fruit of his own
toil. It was a little thing in oil, a girl
looking at a shield which bore a device
of a heart of gold and a scroll in which
one could discover the date Feb. 14.

I took it to be a cover design for a
February issue of a magazine or for
some special purpose incident to St.
Valentine's day, and I deplored the
waste of time. It was then the tenth
day of the shortest month, and this
thing could not be used by anybody
until next vear.

"What do you think of it?'" he asked.

"It's a beauty," I replied. "You'll
sell it— if you live."

"No, I won't," said he, with decision.
"I didn't make it to sell."

My mouth was open to reply that he
shouldn't make anything for any other
purpose when the picture Itself check-
ed me. A flash of memory Illumined
my understanding.

"Isn't that the girl— I saw her only
once— the girl who"—

"Yes," said he, interrupting. "It is
the girl who makes all other girls look
like— like the crude and meaningless
objects which I usually draw when I
try to draw girls. But this is different,
isn't it?"

"My boy, you are right," said I. "This
is the only genuine, and all others are
base imitations. What are you going
to do with it?"

"I shall commit the gross absurdity
of sending It to her as a valentine,"
said he. "Wish I could afford a frame,
but I can't. The express charges will
wind me up. In fact"— His eye at
that moment lighted upon the green
bait protruding from my waistcoat
pocket, and he gave a little gasp as a
man sometimes will when his stomach
is empty.

"However," he continued, "she won't
be bound to go to the expense of fram-
ing it. She can ask the butler to set
It in the back cellar lust as it is and
know that my feelings are safe, be-
cause I shall never find out what be-
comes of it."

"Isn't she in the city?"

"No," said he. "I guess the family
will live in Morristown all winter un-
less they go abroad. I've been asked
to go out, but I haven't any clothes,
and the round trip costs $1.20. The
chances are, old man, that I shall never
see her again, and so I thought I'd bet-
ter paint this portrait from memory
right now. I'm in danger of forgetting
her," he added, with a mournful smile.

On the contrary, it bad been my
opinion that Austen was very greatly
!n danger of not forgetting her. She
was, to all intents and purposes, an in-
habitant of another planet, and it was
extremely unfortunate that he had ever
met her These accidents are less fre-

34

AN ARTIST'S LUCK.

BLAST YOUR BLOOMIN TOP LIGHTS, THEY
DIJJN'T GET it!"

quent than they used to be, but we are
still imperfectly civilized, and there are
parts of the golden wall which a poor
man can see over. AusteD was both
•susceptible and constant and likely to
have trouble enough without adding a
hopeless love.

I did not then know that Miss Cope-
land had any considerable sum of mon-
ey in her own right or any expecta-
tions beyond the share in her father's
estate which would eventually fall to
her, which, unless I misjudged Mr.
Copeland, would not be liberal if his
daughter should marry a poor man.
and might be nothing at all. ' The true
state of the young lady's finances has
since become known to me, and I am
willing to admit that my conduct to-
ward Austen was not calculated to
subserve his best worldly interests.

In short, to drop the style of envious
sarcasm which we who live in cities
now adopt when we speak of the rich,
I honestly thought that it would be a
double error for Austen to send this
remarkable valentine to Miss Cope-
land. In the first place, he couldn't
afford to do so. for the picture was
amazingly good. and. with a slight sup-
pression of the likeness, would certain-
ly be salable some time. In the second
Dlace. it could not fail to evoke an an-

swer from Miss Copeland and thus re-
vive an acquaintance which could only
result in pain and disappointment to
my friend.

"Billy," said I, "you mustn't commit
this folly. Here's the best thing you
have ever done, and you ought to work
it so that you can set yourself on yonr
feet again."

"Yes?" said he. "How hard do you
suppose the express company will swat
me to take this out to Morristown?"
And again he eyed the corner of my
dollar.

I argued the case with him, but I
might as well have addressed my re-
marks to the jointed dummy of wood
which he used as a model. The best
I could do was to persuade him to hold
the picture two or three days before
sending it. He had intended to ship it
right away, in fear lest the landlord
might do something disagreeable in
the way of padlocking the door or oth-
erwise attempting to collect the rent
by violence.

I lent Austen the dollar, and while
he was holding it in his hand and con-
templating it with a tranee-like stare
I deftly picked the inside breast pocket
of his waistcoat, which he had fasten-
ed to the bookcase with a thumb tack.
From this pocket I drew an envelope
containing all that was left of Austen's
pawnable possessions, and I succeeded
in getting the ticket for a fine suit of
clothes which he had bought just be-
fore his illness. Then, having restored
the envelope with the remainder of its
contents, I departed hastily.

After visiting the pawnbroker's and
a little tailor's shop I called upon the
art editor of one of our leading maga-
zines, and, having justified my visit by
some rather neat lying, I said to him:

"Who's buying Harry Austen's stuff
now?"

"Didn't know anybody was," he re-
plied.

"You want to wake up," said I.
"He has caught on."

"How do you mean?" said he.

"He's been doing some swell stuff,"
I replied, "and it isn't for sale. When
I was in his studio this afternoon there
was a man trying to induce him to sell
a cover design— splendid thing it was,
too— and Austen wouldn't let go."

"Did he say it was ordered?"

"No," said I. "He could sell it, but
he won't. He's feeling pretty sure of
himself these days. I shouldn't be sur-
mised if vour friends across the square

HOWARD FIELDING.

35

were stocking up with some or nis
work."

"Tell him to come down here and see
me," said the editor.

"He won't." said I. "He's got some-
thing else on his mind."

The editor drummed on his table and
whistled softly. I was afraid to say a
word more and instantly took my de-
parture.

I went across the square to those
"friends" of the editor's whom I had
mentioned to him. There I found, of
course, another magazine's art editor,
and to him I told the same tale. Then
I met a good fellow on the street who
knew Austen, and I prevailed upon
him to carry my story into two other
publishing houses.

About lunchtime the next day I
went to the building where Austen has
his studio and nearly ran into my
friend and art editor No. 1. They were
going out to luncheon together on the
A. E.'s treat, which he would subse-
quently work into an expensive bill. I
dodged behind the elevator shaft and
then followed cautiously. When I had
trailed them to a restaurant, I ran over

to get art editor N„. - ugnt him

to that same chophcusc.

"By jingo!" I whispered as we came
in. "That accounts for it."

He looked across to where Austen
and art editor No. 1 were sitting, and
then he drew a long breath.

"I'm glad you put me on to this," he
said. "Austen must be right in it.
This is the first time in a year that
I've seen him with his trousers press-
ed." I blessed myself for my visit to
the pawnbroker and the little tailor
and also thanked Frovidenee that I
had put a two dollar bill into the pock-
et of the trousers. Otherwise Austen
might have pawned the suit again
when the tailor brought it around to
the studio.

About 5 o'clock that afternoon I
dropped in upon Austen. He was
smoking a good cigar and sketching »
design in charcoal on a canvas.

He shut his teeth hard upon the
cigar and looked at me with half shut
eyes.

"Well, blast your bloomin' top lights,
they didn't get it!" said he.

"Who didn't get what?" said I.

"I've had three of 'em here today,"
he responded. "Went to lunch with
Harrison. Yes, yes; you were there. I
forgot. Well, after lunch we came
back here, and Harrison made another
play for my valentine. Actually of-

fered me cash, and he tried to find out
what I wa,s going to do with it. Didn't
recognize the portrait. Thought I'd
got a new model, confound him. After
he was gone Jarbeau appeared. I
think he'd been waiting around out-
side."

Jarbeau was the art editor whom I
had taken to luncheon.

"I had a similar circus with him, ex-
cept that he was sure that my pic.
was for Harrison," he continued.
"Well— a— well! He offered cash too.
If I hadn't just eaten a full meal the
temptation would have killed me."

"Good clothes sustain a man, too,"
said I, and he grinned at me.

"Markham was in later," said he.
"He was very easy."

Markham was one of the men whom
my emissary had seen.

"And you didn't sell?" I asked.

"Not for a million dollars. Sell her?
I guess not. I agreed after considera-
ble persuasion"— and he grinned with
great enjoyment— "to do something else
for the gentlemen. They agreed to pay
cash— because they thought I didn't
need it, shiver their blasted timbers!

"But the valentine goes," he added.
"Nothing can stop that now. Heart of
gold! The dross of this world cannot
buy my poor tribute which I shall lay
at her feet. And' a little— just a wee
little bit— of hope will go with it now."

There was a moment's pause. Then
he softly repeated the word "dross,"
which he had uttered with a fine
scorn, and at the same time he put
both hands into the side pockets of the
coat which I had redeemed, and when
he pulled them out they were full of
money.

However, lest I should seem to be
taking credit to myself for the success
of a man now widely praised and
greatly envied, let me explain that my
little coup was nothing to the one
which Austen himself achieved. I
shudder to think what he would have
lost if he had sold the valentine as I
had planned.

For the memory portrait of Miss
Copeland made a tremendous hit in
that young lady's exalted social sphere.
It started Austen on a brilliant and re-
munerative career as a painter of por-
traits for those fortunate persons who
can afford to lavish money on a good
man's work, and it was thus that he
gained a position which enabled him
to win the hand of the lady without ex-
posing her to the paternal malediction.
In fact, the old gentleman behaved
very nicely.

"WHY WEEPEST THOU?"

Mary at the tomb of Jesus on the first Easter morn.

From the painting by Win. E. Pedrick.

IN THE REALM OF FASHION.

A Talk About the New Spring Modes.

JACKETS LONG AND SHORT— THE EASTER HAT.

The tailors are showing all the new
models that are to be worn In a few
weeks. Rough cloths rather than the
plain finished goods are stylish, and

A MODISH BODIOH.

mixtures, whether in stripes, plaids or
checks, are already in decided favor.
Both long and short jackets will be
used— that is to say, the three-quarter
coats that come just a few inches be-
low the hips or halfway to the knees.
This style of coat is the favorite for a
traveling or walking costume, while
the short coats are somewhat elaborate
and intended for rather dressier wear.
In silks or veiling, for example, short
jackets will be in the majority, and the
serges, cheviots and homespuns will be
seen in the swell tailor made coats.
There is a noticeable return to favor
of the long sleeves, and many of the
most elaborate wraps will have reg-

ular coat sieeves, wnne an morning
costumes will possess the same sensi-
ble long models.

There is as yet nothing noticeably
new about suit skirts. All, saving the
most elaborate, are walking lengths,
and, as plaited patterns are so much
more becoming than plain, this style
predominates. No fullness is allowed
over the hips, and if the material is to
be laid in tucks or box plaits these
must all be cut away underneath. Be-
low the knees, however, a short skirt
must have a decided flare, and this, of
course, depends largely upon the fit
ami hang of the petticoat. With the
new frocks ic is still found advisable
to have the skirt lining separate from
the dress, for it is always easier to
have a silk skirt fitted with a plain
yoke than it is to have a new lining
made each time that the old one gives
out. A single cloth skirt will outwear
many a silk one.

Modes In Parasols.

Linen parasols are to be even more
generally used than heretofore, and
these come in a very wide range of
styles, in excellent designs that will
retail at from $2.50 to $50 and over.

The cheaper ones are of quite heavy
linen, with embroideries that coun-
terfeit hand work excellently. These
have handles of natural wood in sim-
ple forms and are remarkably good
looking specimens, neither cheap nor
common in appearance notwithstand-

38

THE REALM OF FASHION.

ing their reasonable price. Delicate
embroideries on fine handkerchief lin-
ens, in patterns artistic and elegant in
the extreme, decorate the parasols at
the other end of the scale.

These are lined with delicately tint-
ed silks In many cases, and the nan
dies are fetching examples of the best
that is turned out by designers who
make these a specialty.

Carved ivories with gold mountings,
pearl in nacre tintings, insets of semi-
precious stones or of clever French
Imitations are some of the handles
used.

The empire parasol with the handle
reversed from the usual position, so
that when closed it is carried with the
top of the shade toward the hand and
when open the hand is near the fer-
rule, is said to be a coming winner in
Its class. The parasol Illustrated is of
this style.

High Collars In Vogue.

With her usual perversity, Fashion
has decreed that collars increase in
height and in comfort, too, strange as
that may seem. It is, however, easily
explained. Since those little "val-
leines," or featherbones, that give the
necessary support have for some time
reached fairly up to the ears, they
could become no higher; but the change
is in the transparent covering which
is made of soft lace entirely or in com-
bination with some filmy material. In-
stead of being rounded out, as it for-
merly was, the collar is now made
straight; hence it must be a little loos-
er, so that it shapes and gives properly
with the neck— therein lies the comfort
—while the top, which is unstiffened
for about half an inch, turns over in a
pretty careless line, thus adding to
the soft becomingness.

Be careful not to let it be a degree
looser than is absolutely necessary for
shaping itself and attempt it in none
but the softest, thinnest material or the
result will be that most unbecoming of
all things, a thick neck.

Becoming Jewelry.

To insure beauty jewels must be
worn with regard to color. Take, for
instance, highly colored gems such as
rubies and sapphires. They could not
be worn with any shade of red. Soft
colors should always be selected In
such eases — turquoises, pearls or dia-
monds.

The woman with dull eyes must nev-
er wear diamond earrings, for these
stones will make them appear duller.
The pearl softens the face more than
any other jewel.

Another stone which is equally be-
coming is the opal. A stone called
tonkinoise, which is a pure blue, makes
a sallow skin many shades lighter.

AN EASTER GOWN.

The New Neckwear.
Embroidered linen collars, the high
turned down style, are extremely
smart and are worn with all kinds of
waists. They are fastened in front,
and the favorite finish is the tulle bow
or rosette fastened with a bar pin of
diamonds or pearls. One style has
buttonholes through which are put link
cuff buttons or a velvet ribbon that is
tied in a stiff bow. A hemstitched
edge, a narrow line of hand embroid-
ery, or some small design in embroid-
ery just at the corner, is the current
fashion.

THE REALM OF FASHION.

39

The Easter Hat In Odd, Attractive
Sailor Shapes.
Sailor hats will be .smart for Easter
and general spring wear. They are to
be worn in a variety of shapes, with
upturned, downturned, curved and
dented brims. By their general be-
comingness, too, an uninterrupted
vogue during the spring and coming
summer seasons is predicted, so that a
woman who invests in one at this early

date may feel convinced that she has
a shape that will be used throughout
the summer.

The irregular models that will be
stylish offer to the business girl of lim-
ited means an unusual opportunity for
practicing a bit of clever economy on
her spring headgear, for flowers of ev-
ery form, size and color are given
prominence in trimming, and there are
few women who do not possess a dis-
carded mass of foliage from whieh
they can in all probability extract for
present use a bunch or two of blossoms
and leaves that have done duty in a
bygone season. With the proper fresh-
ening processes applied, these flowers
will come forth quite fresh and new
again and serve admirably for the dec-
oration of one's first hat.

A becoming shape in one of the new
delicately tinted straws or braids may
be ornamented with a few yards of
malinette and ribbon for rosettes and
bandeau trimming, a wreath or bunch
of flowers and foliage, and one has a
bonnet for Easter that is a bit of fash-
ionable millinery which would do cred-
it to any exclusive modiste's shop.

Wherever the flowers are most be-
coming they should be worn, for in the
coming season there is no definite
place for a rose, a bunch of sweet peas
or for large poinsettias. If the foliage
looks best on the front of the hat— the
latter twisted up in an attractive fash-
ion— then the blossoms should be put
on at the desired angle, and inciden-
tally If leaves, etc., show to advantage

THE NEW TRIMMING.

at the side or in the back they should
be sewed in place where they best be-
come the wearer.

While the flowers in light and dark
shades will be the most pronounced
feature of hat trimmings, tulle and
sheer chiffon silk will be used as twist-
ed bows, pompons, large fluffy loops
and occasionally as plain bands.

40

THE REALM OF FASHION.

Lingerie Frock.

White is steadily gaining in favor for
children's frocks, but the wise mother
will not forget to plan some colored
ones for morning wear. For these
plain gingham, linens and ducks are
the most serviceable materials.

For more dressy frocks, white
batiste, lawns and india linen are used.
One piece dresses are usually made
from heavy linen, or canon cloth, also
known as Indian head. The material

A DAINTY COSTUME FOR A SMALL GrRL.

is in general use throughout the south,
but is practically unknown in the north
and west, which is much to be regret-
ted, since it has all" the good qualities
of linen, without the objectionable one
of becoming easily tumbled. It costs
only 15 cents a yard.

Frocks made from the sheer ma-
terials are of entirely different de-
sign, and except for a very young child
are of the two piece variety, having a
full skirt fastened to the waist. These
always show some touch of hand em-
broidery and inserts of real lace. The
short, puffed sleeves and broad collar,
such as arc shown in the illustration,
are considered the proper finish for lit-
tle dresses of this character.

The Proper Sleeves.

The matching hat is essential, and
there is a distinct tendency to show
in the spring hat just a touch of the
material employed on the gown, either
in silk, velvet or lace.

Only the strictly tailored gowns with
absolutely straight lines and stitched
finish show the long, plain sleeves.
The natty short coat suits continue to
demand a three-quarter sleeve or less.

The three-quartered sleeve is most
economical, as it requires only a
twelve button glove instead of sixteen.
The shorter glove can be bought at
sales as low as $1.25, while $2.50 is the
standard price for the longer glove in
good quality.

A Hint Worth Taking.
Often that which appears to be a
most perfectly tailored skirt will grow
to hang with a twist or the plaits will
fly back farther on one side than on
the other. It nearly always turns out
that the stitching upon plaits or gores
is run up one side and down on the
side opposite. The natural inclination
followed even by the women that do
the work for good tailors is to stitch
down from the top on one side and,
turning the skirt most easily in the
machine, to stitch up on the other.
Instead all of the work should run up
or all of it down, preferably down.
Without taking this care a skirt may
sag, and the greatest amount of fuss-
ing and pressing will never get the
"warped" quality out of it.

Harmony In Dress at Capital Levees.

If Mrs. Roosevelt elects to wear
white, she likes all her assistants to se-
lect the same or some very pale color.
The result makes for artistic blending
and adds to the beauty of the scene.
It used to be that an unfortunate cab-
inet hostess would spend weary hours
and many dollars getting up a fine cos-
tume, and perhaps the woman next her
would have on something which liter-
ally spoiled the effect.

Mrs. Roosevelt disapproves of strong
contrasts in the receiving line, and she
makes but few requests of this nature,
so her wishes are always faithfully
followed. Certainly the guests at the
reception enjoy a spectacle got up
with a view to harmony rather than
the haphazard greens, reds and blacks
of former days.

THE WHITE GOD'S CHARM

By JOHN J. GALLAGHER.

•HEN a regular army n*xn
who has seeu service in the
Philippines pulls out his
watch, disengages it from
its chamois skin cover and chuckles
apropos to nothing in particular you
can get the tail end of this story by
joining iu the laugh and casually in-
quiring,-"Who was it that finally earn-
ed the everlasting blessing of Private
Reilly by stringing up the sable hued
bead hunter?"

It was the day following the terrible
typhoon which swept the China sea
and devastated the greater portion of
Luzon back iu 1900. Buildings wen?
blown down, roads obliterated and the
miles of army telegraph wires twisted
into a thousand fantastic shapes.

Colonel Boyne had arisen early, and
his orderly had occasion to note that
the typhoon had also ruffled his tem-
per. Now, there wasn't a better na-
tured man in the army than the same
Colonel Boyne. and if he so far forgot
himself as to swear at the orderly it
was because of the irritation arising
from the possession of an interesting
piece of information and no means of
transmitting it in the proper channel.

When it is understood that the colo-
nel's information concerned the definite
location of Aguinaldo, when it is stat-
ed that permission to pursue the insur-
gent leader must be clicked from a
point 150 miles distant over wires
which could not be replaced without a
week's work— when all these loose ends
are tied in a hard knot, some idea may
be obtained of the problem which con-
fronted the exasperated officer.

"Send for Reilly." the colonel com-
manded as a last resort. "If anybody
can reach Vigan with a whole skin,
Aloysius is the lad. By Sulu! I wish
I could make the ride myself. It goes
against the grain to order a man out
on dangerous duty like that."

"Never fear for me, sir," Reilly as-
sured him later in the day. "I was
born to good luck, and, not havin' seen
any of it up to the present writin', I
think it must be about due."

"May all the saints- in the calendar
attend you, Reilly," said the colonel.
"Take anything yon need, not forget-

ting the birds, and make the start a*
soon as possible."

It was almost two hours after sunup
when Reilly was at last ready to report
to the colonel for final instructions.

"What have we here?" exclaimed the
"old man" as he took in the vision of
Private Reilly astride a rangy bay.

"Everything but the dispatches," an-
swered Reilly. "You see, I am takin'
Dewey along with me to do double
duty as mascot and interpreter. He
can babble every dialect in the island."

During this conversation the diminu-
tive Dewey sat bolt upright on his na-
tive pony, a wicker cage fastened to
the saddlebow and three days' rations
lashed in the rear.

With a few parting words the colonel
handed Reilly two yellow dispatches
and ordered him to ride forward with
all speed.

At the picket line Reilly drew rein,
carefully concealed the dispatches un-
der his inside hatband and leaned down
to Sergeant Miller for a parting word.

"If the white carriers should come
back without a message." he said, "just
send a word back to Illinois and tell
the little girl that gave them to me that
she is the only one who ever cared
whether Reilly or the sod was on top."

As a matter of fact, these white
pigeons had brought down upon Reil-
ly's head the witticisms of half the
regiment. The fact that no hand but
his was ever permitted to fondle or
feed them was in itself sufficient evi-
dence that Reilly was not impervious
to the tender sentiments of life.

Not until noon did the bearer of dis-
patches rein up his willing mount.
Tethering the animal where it would
at once be in reach of both grass and
water, Reilly stretched himself at full
length on the ground and shut out the
glare of the sun from his wearied eyes.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, sudden-
ly starting to his feet. "I sure forgot
the nigger, to say nol:iiin' of the birds
and rations."

As he hesitated, undecided as to the
best course to pursue, the dull patter
of a pony's unshod hoofs reached his
ears. A moment later the little brown
man bounced into siirht. his rierht hand

42

THE WHITE GOD'S CHARM.

'JUST SEND A WOKD BACK TO ILLINOIS."

beating a tattoo on the animal's lean
ribs and his voice raised in shrill ex-
postulations over the pony's unsatisfac-
tory progress.

A short breathing spell and they
were again in the saddles. Not till
darkness set in did they reach the foot-
hills, which marked the first forty
miles of their journey.

Dewey hobbled the horses in a grassy
ravine and turned his attention to the
preparation of the evening meal. As
the provender consisted entirely of
hard tack and bacon, his reputation as
an excellent cook was not put to the
test Despite the hard day's work
Reilly's appetite was missing. While
Dewey ravenously devoured the scorch-
ed bacon Reilly sat idly tossing crumbs
to the white carrier pigeons.

Keilly finally lay down to sleep, leav
ing Dewey to stand guard. At 11
o'clock the bearer of dispatches, who
had never closed his eyes for a mo-
i!!ent, arose to his feet and enacted a
pmtomime which was supposed to rep-
resent a tired trooper shaking off sound
slumber. Taking this as the sign of his

relief, Dewey was soon sleeping hard
enough and loud enough for two men.
When Reilly twisted him to his feet at
the first suggestion of dawn he was
chattering in broken English about
head hunters and poisoned arrows and
such like barbarities.

"What about the head hunters, Dew-
ey V" said Reilly when they were once
more on the way after a hasty assault
on the hard tack and bacon.

"Him much there," Dewey affirmed,
pointing in a direction which would
seem to indicate that they were trav
eling straight for the region of these
picturesque savages.

"No more eat native," persisted Dew-
ey, glad of an opportunity ta exercise
his American vocabulary. "Him now
eat only white heads." And he cast a
meaning glance at Reilly's roseate top
piece.

The semblance of a trail wound in
and out, but steadily upward over rock
strewn ground and through dense un-
dergrowth. Suddenly Dewey pointed a
brown finger toward a giant tree that
stood outlined against the sky. Nes-
tling in two of its limbs was what ap-
peared to be a mammoth bird's nest.

"Head hunter live much high," he ex-
plained. "No can get."

"Oh, it wouldn't be any trouble get-
ting that!" said Reilly, and, snatching
his revolver from the holster, he took
a snapshot at the lofty dwelling. The
report was followed by a faint cry, and
a contorted body dropped to the ground
like a stone.

Reilly paused aghast at the outcome
of his rash act. "That," he said half
aloud, "is the poorest shot I ever made
in my life. If I get out of this mess
with a head on my shoulders it will be
because I have more luck than"—

At that instant a noose dropped noise-
lessly over his shoulders, and he was
unhorsed by a sudden tightening of the

roDe.

The first thought which came to Reil-
ly's mind when he was set upon his
feet, after being securely bound, was
one of wonder over where this myriad
of little brown men had all sprung
from. Chattering like so many mon-
keys, they pressed about him, gesticu-
lating wildly and no doubt threatening
the most horrible forms of vengeance.
Gazing over their heads, he caught
sight of Dv!\vey, also a captive, and
their horses being driven off in the
distance. The 'little wicker cage had
evidently been broken open, and the
frightened pigeons fluttered about high
in the air

JOHN J. GALLAGHER.

43

As the natives dragged their cap-
tives toward a distant clearing the

birds followed in circling flight. This
fact evidently afforded the savages
much pleasure, for they broke into a
sort of droning chant, accompanying
it with skyward gestures.

The advance guard finally came to a
halt before a collection of grass huts
which marked the center of the clear-
ing. The prisoners were tightly bound
to a highly decorated post which had
evidently served in the same capacity
on former occasions. As soon as they
had satisfied themselves that there was
no possibility of the victims escaping
the whole company turned their atten-
tion once more to the two carriers
which were now skimming back and
forth scarcely twenty feet above the
ground. At a sign from the chief they
all prostrated themselves as if in wor-
ship.

"What in thunder are they up to
now?" growled Reilly. "Why don't
they chop heads and get it over with?"

Dewey was trembling with excite-
ment. "Him gods." he explained. "Head
hunter much 'fraid of white bird. Him
spirit."

At the direction of the chief huge
wooden bowls heaped with rice were
brought out and displayed invitingly,
but the birds did not respond to this
enticement. The natives drew back
and were about to again prostrate
themselves when, to their amazement.
the birds darted down swiftly and
alighted with perfect confidence on the
broad shoulders of the white prisoner.

Seizing upon this auspicious omen.
Dewey broke forth into a ranting dis-
course addressed to the superstitious
head hunters in their own dialect.

"Beware, devil begotten head hunt-
ers!" he howled. "You have dared to
waylay a mighty god. See how the
spirits come to him when you could
not tempt them with much rice. Re-
lease him before an earthquake swal-
lows you up or a typhoon blows you
Into the sea. Act quickly. The time is
short."

Whether or not the presence of the
pigeons, together with Dewey's ha-
rangue, would have alone been suffi-
cient to effect a release will never be
known. Scarcely had he ceased speak-
ing when a black cloud blew across the
hills and the distant rumble of thunder
spurred the head hunters to action.

"If this is a god." said the chief, not
entirely convinced, "he can kill, and he
can make alive. With the boom-boom
he has smitten my sou. Let the white

"DEWEY !" HE SHOUTED JOYFULLY.

god restore him to life, and it is well."

"What's all the powpow about. Dew-
ey?" asked Reilly anxiously. "I am
not afraid to die, but I like to know
when it is coming."

"You no die, you no die," chattered
Dewey. "Me fix. Me tell him you
much god. You quick loose. Ride like
blazes. Dewey come soon."

Then, turning to the chief, Dewey
resumed his palaver. "The white god
can kill," he announced, "but not make
alive. Let him depart. I, too. am a
great spirit. I will say a word in your
son's ear, and he shall be restored."

With his own hands the aged chief
unbound Reilly and motioned him to
where his horse was uervously paw-
ing the ground. A second invitation
was unnecessary. Shouldering his way
through the crowd of excited natives,
he vaulted into the saddle and turned
his horse's head from the clearing.
Once he glanced back and beheld Dew-
ey wildly motioning him onward. It
was destined to be the last time he
should see his faithful little mascot.

44

SHACK'S REFORM.

Not until dusk settled aown tnat
uight did Reilly draw rein and slide
from the back of his winded mount.
He had little hope of Dewey overtak-
ing him, but, banking on the mascot's
proverbial luck, hoped to pick him up
somewhere on the return trip. Dewey
had been in many tight places before,
but had always succeeded in wriggling
out of them.

Reilly had just set about his prepa-
rations for the night when his ear
caught the souud of snapping twigs
and soft footfalls. As he turned the
light of his carnpfire fell upon a brown
lace peering at him through the un-
dergrowth.

"Dewey!" he shouted joyfully, but at
that momest a native runner stepped
out from the leafy screen, and he dis-
covered his mistake.

The messenger had evidently travel-
ed long and hard and was weak from
exhaustion. Sinking down on his knees,
he bowed low before Reilly.

"Much god— make alive!" he wailed.
"Black man no can— chief's son no live
—kill black devil— white god come make
both alive."

The truth of the situation flashed
into Reilly's mind. The faithful Dew-
ey had thrown himself into the breach
and had fallen a victim to the bar-
barous natives. By sending the run-
ner with the news of Dewey's death
the old chief hoped to recall Reilly and
secure the life of his son.

In such fragments of dialect as he
could command Reilly made the mes-
senger understand his displeasure. He
refused absolutely to return.

Prepared for this possible exigency,
the messenger pleaded on behalf of the
chief for some token from the white
god which would offer protection from
the earthquake and the typhoon.

With surprising alacrity Reilly pro-
duced the chamois skin cover of his
watch and an indelible pencil. With
the latter he made a few mysterious
signs upon the former and handed it
to the trembling messenger.

"Take it, you scum of the earth," he
said, "and God grant that the prescrip-
tion may be filled mighty sudden."

A month later a small band of head
hunters fell into the hands of a de-
tachment of American scouts. One of
the natives bore himself with great
dignity and on the supposition that he
was a chief of some prominence was
finally brought before Colonel Boyne.
During the course of examination the
chief, in order to substantiate his
claim of immunity, produced a very
soiled piece of chamois skin upon
which certain words were still dis-
cernible. This is what Colonel Boyne
made out of it:

"The bearer murdered Dewey. Hana;
him on sight and receive the blessing
of Private Aloysius J. Reilly."

SHACK'S REFORM.

HOW CUFFY TAUGHT HIM THE BETTER WAY.

TWO black, eager faces bent sud
denly forward as the dice-
bones, they called them— rattled
upon the low roof of Wun?
Sin's laundry. As the tiny cubes tum-
bled over and over, deciding the own
ership of the two coins which lay be
tween the youthful gamblers, the
"shooter" cried fervently:

"Come seben! Dis fo' a pain o'
shoes!"

To which the other, to counteract the
spell of the conjure invoked, responded
with equal fervor:

"Call him off, seben! Dat my break
las'," at the same time reaching hope
fully toward the coins.

But the shooter forestalled him— for
the dice had now stopped— and de-
clared the money his.

He picked up the coins aud ostenta-

tiously tossed one back upon the roof,
calling:

"Fade me, Cuffy!"

Cuffy faded him by searching long
and laboriously through his clothing
for another coin, which he at length
found and placed beside the one on the
roof. Then the shooter picked up the
dice and juggled them in the hollow of
his hands, blowing upon his fiugers for
luck. When they rattled back to the
roof the two faces again bent lower,
one fearfully, the other exultantly and
jeering.

"Yo's, Shack." And the one called
Cuffy rose to his feet with ashy face.
"I's 'bleege to stop now. nigger. I's
done out."

Shack looked at him curiously,
standing on the defensive. Indeed,
there was usually good reason for

SHACK'S REFORM.

45

snacK's customary uerensive atutuoe
at the end of a game of craps. He had
been accused of ringing in "peeties"—
loaded dice— of overawing a weak op-
ponent by a blustering demeanor, of
doing many things that were consid-
ered disreputable among roustabouts.
But, however lawless he might be or
mean, he never showed any signs of it
outwardly. His eyes had a keen,
straightforward way of searching oth-
er eyes, his shoulders remained square,
his head was carried high.

As he stood there on the defensive,
waiting for Cuffy to pitch into him as
other worsted crap shooters had done,
he first wondered, then grew derisive
at the larger boy's peaceable, almost
pitiable attitude.

"Skeered?" he mocked.

"No, I ain't skeered," answered Cuffy
quickly, "but what for I fight yo'?
Uar ain' nobody to blame but inc. 1—1
done stole dat money, an' I promise
mammy I nebber shoot craps iu all de
woiT. I ain'— no— good any mo'," his
lips beginning to quiver.

Shack grinned.

"Yo' ain' de firs' pusson dat stole,"
he jeered. "I reckon yo' better go off
in de dark an' hide. Den de p'lice alD*
cotch yo'. Now lemme see yo' cry."

Cuffy paid no attention to him.

"An' my mammy trusted me." he
went on dolefully, "an' was a-savin'
up for me to go to Tuskegee an' learn
a heap o' t'ings, an' den I was a-goin'
to make money an' buy her a house
wid a piazzer like w'ite fo'ks an' a
mule an' cow an' some chickens, an'
now— oh, mammy!"

"Dat's right," cried Shack encourag-
ingly. "I see dem tears a-comin' Cuffy.
Let 'em drap, nigger; let 'em drap!"

A momentary Hash dried the incipi-
ent tears, acid Cuffy's muscles grew
tense. Then again the shoulders droop-
ed.

"I ain't min', Shack," he said, with-
out resentment. "I could wimp you
like 1 has done, but I 'low yo' better
whup me. I'll stan' still an' let yo'
poun' till yo' arm's tired. Yo' ain' im-
'erstan'. My mammy's a-scrapin' an'
savin' for school, an' I'm a-scrapin' an'
savin' too. We ain' spen' one cent
widout need. An' now I done los' a
whole dollar shootin' craps— all I earn
dis week— an' I promise mammy I neb-
ber shoot craps in de worl'. I wish
yo'd whup me good. Shack."

But Shack was not fighting on that
line. He threw his arms akimbo and
regarded Cuffy with critical amuse-
ment

"So yo'a a mammy boy." he sneered,
"an* a schoolin' boy! Wha's yo' sense,
Cuffy? A mammy's good 'nougb f<>'
babies, but we's too big. I nebber hab
no mammy, an' I'm tough. Yo' better
widout one. Dey spiles big boys."

"Yo' ain't know my mammy," was
Cuffy's answer, "an' yo' ain't keer for
schoolin'. 'Cep'n' for dat yo'd be t'ink
in' like me." Then a sudden inspira-
tion seized him, and he added, "Wha
yo' stay tonight, Shack?"

"Don' know," indifferently, "roun"
some'er's. Mebbe in ole Brown's lum-
ber yard if de watchman don' ketch
me."

"Den s'pose yo' come on home 'long
o' me an' see my mammy." invited
Cuffy eagerly. "She make yo' t'ink like
me, shore. We hab watermilyun an'
sweet raters an' bacon, an' in de inawn
in' mammy likely gib us fried chicken.
Yo' can sleep 'long o' me in my baid.
Wha yo' say?"

Shack did not say anything for fully
two minutes. The question was a
weighty one. At first his impulse was
a flat refusal, but the thought of meet
ing Cuffy's mammy and being able to
ridicule that obstinate boy in the in-
trenchments of his own home was a
pleasant one. And then the "water-
milyun an' sweet taters" and the pos-
sibility of fried chicken! They decided
him.

"I's yo' cake." he grinned.

The two boys walked cautiously to
the edge of Wung Sin's laundry roof
and peered down. Crap shooting was a
serious offense, and Shack was careful
to keep this retreat on the laundry roof
from the knowledge of the police.

"See anyt'ing, Cuffy?" he whispered
as they glanced sharply from side to
side.

"Only dat fruit seller on de coiner.
He ain' min'."

Grasping the edge of the roof with
their hands, they swung over and
dropped lightly to the ground. Then
they scurried round the corner into
Bay street and were lost in the crowd.

Cuffy's mother lived in a small tene-
ment in the colored district. She was
ironing when the boys arrived.

"Dat yo', Cuffy?" she called as they
darkened the low doorway. "Come
right in, honey. An' who's yo' frien'?"

"Him Shack, mammy." answere 1
Cuffy rather proudly. "Yo' done beali
me tole 'bout him."

"Co'se I has, honey, co'se I has." the
woman exclaimed, leaving her ironing
and coming forward cordially. "Glad

46

SHACK'S REFORM.

to see yo', snack. Come right in, boy.
I done heah 'bout yo' heaps o' times.
Sit down in dat roc-kin' cheer. Dar.
dat's right. So yo's Shack. Law, law!
My boy's done tole 'bout yo' no end.
Say yo's able do anyt'ing yo' set out
for; dat yo's de mos' promisin' black
boy in de whole city." She returned
to her ironing and worked vigorously
for several minutes, then: "Does yo'
know, honey, dat's a mighty fine say-
so? De mos' promisin' boy! Dat
means dar's gran' wuk befo' yo'— gran'
wuk, honey. We black fo'ks need jes'
seen boys to grow up an' lead us. 1's
glad you an' Cuffy am frien's. He's a
good boy, but easy led. He needs
strong, true frien's to show de way.
Wha's dat, Cuffy? Shack goin' stay
all night? Shore 'nough? Law, law!
Dat's good! Now yo' boys jes' placate
'mong yo'.se'fs while I get dis ironin'
off; den we's hab supper an' mo' talk.
Cuffy, yo' put dat milyun in a pail o'
col' water."

Shack had listened without any at-
tempt to answer, but his eyes and ears
were keenly alert. This was an ex-
perience which was entirely new and
which it would take him time to ad-
just. He had peered into rooms be-
fore now and had generally been driv-
en away with a broom or poker, but he
did not remember any of them that had
been quite so clean and cozy as this
scantily furnished room, and certainly
none of the women had been like this
one wbo was actually treating him as
though his presence was desirable. But
of course he was right in his declara-
tion that a mammy was a detriment to
a big boy. This was only an unusual
side he was seeing; presently would
appear some weakness with which he
could overwhelm Cuffy.

But what appeared presently brought
him half to his feet in sudden wonder,
derision, contempt. There was Cuffy
actually telling his mammy about the
crap shooting and the money he had
lost, and more wonderful yet, instead
of scolding and punishing him as ordi-
nary women would have done, this
mammy was patting her boy's check-
and talking in a low. earnest voice,
and, yes, they were both crying.

Shack drew a bard, deep breath and
waited in momentary expectation of
hearing his own name. But, no, Cuffy
only spoke of himself and then went
back to his chair by the window, where
he sat very sober and thoughtful. Ami
his mammy began to put away her
ironinL' and prepare for supper.

After supper Shack returned to the
rocking chair, feeling very comfortable
and contented. And the puzzling mam-
my, after she had cleared the table and
washed the dishes, came and sat down
between him and Cuffy.

"Co'se yo' goin' to Tuskegee when yo'
get able, honey," she began, and then,
accepting this for a fact and unob-
servant of the indignant scorn on his
face, she went on in an almost rever-
ent voice: "Hit's a gran' t'ing, dis
school; a gran', noble t'ing. Wat we
black fo'ks lak is kuowin' t'ings, an'
dis school will gib us dat, heapin' up
an' rminin' ober. Yo' boys dat projec'
for schoolin' can be mos' anyt'ing yo'
aim for— preachers, doctors, lawyers,
railroaders— jes' lak w'ite fo'ks. Hit's
a gran' t'ing to be a strong boy like
yo'. wid all dese t'ings on ahead." Her
hand sought Shack's shoulder and rest-
ed there caressingly. "Some day,
honey," she continued gently, "yo'll
likely be ridin' in yo' own kerridge an'
he'pin' all de black fo'ks round' yo'. I
hope yo'll sort o' look out for Cuffy.

"WHO'S A. NIUUER ?" HE DEMANDED.

lie's a good boy, but jes' a little v eak
sometimes. When yo'se bofe at Tus-
keffee don' let him shoot crane an'

SHACK'S REFORM.

47

rings like dat. He'll heah to yo'.
Fromis' yo'll keer for him, honey."

Again Shack's breath came hard, but
her hand was upon his shoulder, her
eyes looking into his. He tried to
scoff and jeer, but the words stuck in
his throat, and only a husky "Yes'm, I
will." came to his lips. Then he rose
suddenly to his feet, only to sink back
into the chair, hot and trembling, for
this strange mammy had kissed him.

"I knowed yo' would, honey," she
said softly, "but I wanted to heah yo'
promise. A boy lak yo' nebber forgets
his promise."

Shack made a desperate effort to
break from the spell that was closing
in upon him. Missionaries he did not
mind, but this mammy was approach-
ing him in an unrecognized way. If he
wished to humiliate Cuffy he must
keep better control of himself. But he
only said:

"School like dat cos' a heap."

"No, honey; hit's made for pore fo'ks
like we all. Me an' Cuffy 'low on get-
tin' a hun'ered dollars, den I'll be sen'-
in' what I can to him. I reckon yo'
could sabe dat much quicker'n we hab.
Cuffy says yo' make heaps o' money."

For want of a better answer Shack
nodded. He thought of the $7 or $8 he
often made in a single week by shoot-
ing craps. But her next words chilled
him:

"I's glad yo' ain't shoot craps, hon-
ey."

"How yo' know?" he demanded
sharply.

"By yo' eyes an' de way yo' walks,"
she answered, smiling. "Fo'ks ain'
shoot craps an' do mean t'ings when
dey walk an' look like yo'. I know7.
Dat's why I make yo' promise to keer
for Cuffy. Law, law! Shakin' yo' head
ain' fool inc. Crap shootin's a mean.
low t'ing, an' I's mighty glad yo' ain'
do hit."

Shack's eyes fell gradually to the
floor. In imagination he could see
Cuffy over by the window regarding
him curiously and these other eyes
looking at him with frank confidence.
He tried to raise his gaze to theirs, but
could not. What did it mean? He had

never felt timid or abashed before.

When he went into the loft with
Cuffy he was thinking very hard and
very shrewdly. He had never been in
a real bed before, and the softness felt
deliciously soothing, but for all that he
did not fall asleep. He listened to
Cuffy's regular breathing and thought
and struggled and understood rebel-
iiously that he was being conquered,
but he was straightforward and sharp
with himself, even though it hurt. And
at length he heard this strange, tender
voiced mammy beginning to move be-
low.

When he went down he accompanied
Cuffy to a corner behind a large store-
house to gather kindlings. There he
made a last desperate effort to assert
himself.

Placing a chip upon his shoulder, he
turned fiercely to his companion.

"Who's a nigger?" he demanded.

Cuffy laughed in his face.

"I reckon we bofe is," he grinned.
"But wha' for yo' act so. Shack? I
ain' goin' knock no chip often yo'
shoulder. We ain' no need fight. We's
goin' to Tuskegee. me ai/ you is. Yo'
done tole mammy so."

"I done tole yo' is skeered to fight."
yelled Shack. "Didn't yo' say I's nig-
ger when I crap yo' out yes'day? Now
knock dis chip off an' prove hit."

"Mebbe I call yo' nigger." retorted
Cuffy placidly. "I know yo' did me.
plenty time. Dat ain' nuffin. I ain'
goin' fight, an' yo' ain' goin' fight.
We's got better sense. But dar's mam-
my callin' us to breakfas'. Come.
Shack!"

The chip fell unheeded from Shack's
shoulder. But he was not a boy to do
things by halves. As they went to-
ward the house he slipped the dollar
he had won into Cuffy's pocket.

"Tell yo' mammy yo' met de crap
shooter an' he gib hit back." he said.
"An' if she eber ax yo' does I shoot
craps, yo' say no. I done gib hit up. an'
I has. I's goin' take dat job the steam-
boat man offer at fo' dollar. 'Tain'
much, but mebbe I make more by
wukin' hard. I's goin' long o' yo' to
Tuskegee, sure 'nough."

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dinged 'f it comes up ter that ! "

Why this T/fonth's Jicme is called the
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Heretofore The Acme has had printed on its cover the month in
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of periodicals and bears date of the forthcoming month. Although it
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The Acme flagazine

Vol. 1.

MAY, 1907

No. G.

Entered as second-class matter November 16, 1900, at the Post Office at Trenton, N. J.,
under the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879.

"OLD IRONSIDES."

A Hero of the American Navy, Who Spent His Declining Years

at Bordentown.

By E. P. WILLIAMS.

o

#iTOWW0©§jN a high bluff overlook-
.§« ©@ mg the Delaware river,

1 in the subutbs of his-
I toric old Bordentown,
®&&)&'&&®'&&€: stands an ancient man-
•MMMW* sion, now used as an in-
dustrial school for colored youth. This
is Montpellier, once the home of that
redoubtable old seaman, Commodore
Charles Stewart.

It is a fine old country mansion,
hemmed in by lofty silver pines. Before
"Old Ironsides" purchased it in 1816 the
place belonged to Francois Frederici,
"General of Surinam," who settled there
over a century ago. After the Commo-
dore's death the home was occupied by
his daughter, Mrs. Delia Stewart Parnell,
mother of Charles Stewart Parnell, the
great Irish leader, and here Fanny Par-
nell, the noted sister of the Irish states-
man, died.

Commodore Stewart was one of the

most remarkable naval heroes of our coun-
try. It is to him, with Commodore Bain-
bridge, America owes it that our navy
went to sea in the war of 1812. And it
was this aged patriot who, when Fort
Sumpter was fired upon, pleaded in vain
to be assigned to active service, exclaim-
ing: "I am as young as ever to fight for
my country 1"

Though commissioned as rear-admiral
in 1862, Stewart always clung to the title
of commodore. In stature he was small;
his features were regular and strong; his
eyes large, bright and blue, and his ex-
pression singularly animated. With much
good-humor and affability he was never
undignified. He is remembered by the
villagers as a little old man, with smooth-
shaven face and snow-white hair; fond of
flowers, birds and children, and enthusi-
astic in the cultivation of his farm.

Charles Stewart was born in Philadel-
phia, July 28th, 1778. He began his sea-

28

OLD IRONSIDES."

life as cabin-boy on a packet and was sub-
sequently a commander. In 1798 he en-
listed in the United States navy with the
rank of lieutenant, and took part in the
fights with French privateers in 1800; was
on the Constellation in 1802, in the war
with the Barbary States; was promoted to
the rank of captain and was among those
officers who received the thanks of Con-
gress when peace was concluded.

Captain Stewart returned from a cruise
in the West Indies in the spring of 1814
and found the Constitution closely block-
aded in Boston harbor by a powerful
British squadron. That remarkable fri-
gate had already won such a reputation
that the enemy were determined she
should not get to sea again, and they
held her locked in the port for months.
Stewart was known as a consummate
seaman. He was put in command of
''Old Ironsides," as the frigate was affec-
tionately called, and despite the unceas-
ing vigilance of the British he slipped
out in December and sailed away.

He made several captures, and the fri-
gates of the enemy began an industrious
search for him, while all the lesser craft
strained every nerve to keep out of the
way. On the 20th of February, 1815,
when off the coast of South America, he
gave chase to two of the enemy's vessels,
and after a terrific engagement succeeded
in capturing both They proved to be
the English frigate Cyane, of 32 guns,
and the sloop-of-war Levant, of 21 guns.
In this battle the Constitution had 4
killed and 10 wounded, while on the
enemy's vessels there were 35 killed and
42 wounded. Of all the battles in which
the famous ship was engaged there was
none more remarkable than this. When
Stewart advanced to the attack he be-
lieved both his enemies were frigates.
The manner in which he baffled every
effort of the two to rake him while he
repeatedly raked them, was one of the
many proofs that the American navy
contained no finer seaman than he.

After the surrender, while Captain
Stewart was talking to the commanders
of the Cyane and Levant in his own
cabin, the two British captains fell into a
dispute, each charging the other with
failing to do the right thing during the
engagement, and insisting that if it had
been done they would not have been de-
feated. Stewart sat amused and inter-

ested until he saw they were becoming
angry, when he interfered.

"Now, gentlemen," said he, "there's
no need of your growing warm over this
affair; no matter what evolutions you
made, or what you did, the end would
have been the same. If you don't be-
lieve it, I will put each of you back on
your ship with the same crews and we'll
fight it all over again."

Neither of the officers were prepared to
accept this proposal, and they, no doubt,
knew the result would be the same.

During the early days of President
Lincoln's administration, before the fir-
ing upon Fort Sumpter by the Confeder-
ates, the all-absorbing question was as to
whether or not the fort should be rein-
forced by the government. A good many
opposed, because it was known that the
attempt would bring on a conflict, and if
war was to come, each was anxious that
the other side should strike the first
blow.

It was amid this excitement, doubt
and trouble that Commodore Stewart
left his home at Bordentown and went by
train to Washington. From the station
he made his way straight to the White
House and sent in his name to President
Lincoln. As usual, the Executive had a
swarm of visitors, but he directed that
the distinguished caller be admitted at
once. As the tall, sad-faced man rose
from his chair he towered fully two feet
above the diminutive form of the naval
officer in his blue swallow-tail, who took
the proffered hand, and after a few con-
ventional words, looked up and said in
his brisk manner :

"Mr. President, I'll reinforce Fort
Sumpter."

"You, Commodore ! We are just dis-
cussing the question."

"There's no need of discussing it; it
must be done ! Give me the men and
ships — there won't be many required —
and I'll do it."

The President saw that his caller was
in earnest, and he respected him too
highly to indulge in anything like jest-
ing.

"I am inclined to think as you do,
Commodore, but—"

"But what?" impatiently interrupted
the veteran.

"You have already done so much for
your country that it seems only fair that

E. P. WILLIAMS.

29

we should give the younger men a
chance."

"Younger men ! What's the matter
with me ? I'm not old enough yet to
need a cane."

"I observe that; you are wonderfully
spry for one of your years. Let me see,
what is your age ?"

"Not quite eighty-four."

"Why, you are still a young man; but
the trouble is, Commodore, we have so
many that are still younger, that they
are plaguing the life out of me; I don't
see how I can refuse them, but I shall be
grateful to have the benefit of your coun-
sel any time you are willing to give it."

"Counsel be hauged ! We have had
too much talk; it's time for actions, and
I demand that you give me a chance
with the rest."

With the inimitable tact for which
President Lincoln was noted, he suc-
ceeded in smoothing the ruffled feelings
of the Commodore, but the old gentle-
man was not quite satisfied when he bade
the President good-by, without having
obtained the opportunity to re enter the
active service of his country.

It is related by Edward S. Ellis that
one day, while he was visiting Admiral
Stewart, at his home, the old patriot
showed him a Toledo sword which had
been presented to him by the King of
Spain. The blade of the weapon,
although quite plain and ordinary look-
ing, of course was very valuable, but the
hilt was so rough and crude that Mr.
Ellis expressed surprise.

"I supposed that when a king makes a
present of a sword," said he, "that the
hilt is generally of a more costly pattern
than that."

"So it is," replied Stewart, making a
few lightning-like passes in the air,
just to show that he had not forgotten
how to handle the weapon; "that was a
very handsome sword when it came to
me, and I could not accept it until
authorized by Congress. During my
fight with the Cyane and Levant I was
walking back and forth with the sword
under my arm, the hilt slightly project-
ing in front of my chest, when a grape-
shot slipped it off, as it grazed me. The
hilt which it now has was put on by my
gunner."

"Were you ever wounded in battle?"
he was asked.

"I was struck only once and it amount-
ed to nothing. It was in the same battle.
A pigeon became so frightened by the
smoke and racket that it flew hither and
thither, and finally perched on my
shoulder. While there a musket ball
struck its claw at the junction of the toes
with the leg, and entered my shoulder.
The resistance it met saved my shoulder
from being shattered; except for that,
the huTt must have proved serious."

The Admiral, still loosely holding the
weapon in his hand, turned his faded
eyes toward the window and gazed out
over the snow. Those eyes seemed to
look backward over the vista of fifty,
sixty, seventy years, and must have
recalled the many stirring scenes in
which he had taken part, as well as the
faces of the brave fellows like himself,
who had gone from earth long ago, leav-
ing him alone. Then the old veteran,
still erect and w,ith the fires of patiiotism
glowing in his brave heart, softly mur-
mured:

"I have been more fortunate than I
deseive; strange that I should be the
only one left, but it cannot be for long."

And yet he lived for seven more years.
Then, when a scirrhus cancer appeared
on his tongue, a skillful surgeon told him
it could be easily removed and need
cause him no trouble.

"Oh," said the Admiral, who was then
past ninety, "I've lived long enough;
let it alone "

He died a few months later, in his
ninety-second year. He suffered acutely
for many weeks, and as the end drew
nigh, was unable even to give utterance
to his wants. It had stormed throughout
the day, but toward night the clouds
were driven from the sky. The setting
sun threw a flood of golden light on
house, lawn and river, and as the windows
were thrown open to admit the warm,
fresh air, a little bird flew in, hopped to
the bedstead of the dying man, and
perching near his head, filled the room
with its melodious song.

Bordentown did reverence to the de-
parted hero, watching with tearful eyes,
the vessel which bore his b<"dy to its
resting-place by the Schuylkill river.

A MEMORABLE POLITICAL
CONTEST.

How One Man Elected Another to the United States Senate.

By CHARLES S. TUNIS.

[continued ]

a c;©©©©®^©:>€;

§P&P4WffW99&AKING UP our story
at the point where it
was broken off in the
preceding chapter, af-
ter the successful
coup de main where-
by a temporary coalition of Republicans,
dissatisfied Democrats and "Labor" men
captured the organization of the House
of Assembly, we now find the members
of the previous day's minority present at
the opening of the morning session of
the House and demanding to be sworn in,
in order that they might participate in
the further proceedings of that body.
Ceasing to question the legality of the
organization, they now declared their
submission, and professed acquiescence
in what had been accomplished.

Their request to be sworn in a body,
however, was refused because of the
fact that the seats of two of the number
holding certificates of election as prima
facie evidence of their right to admission
were being contested. The two in ques-
tion were Henry Turley, of Camden, who
claimed election over one Haines, who
contested, and Frederick Walters, of
Trenton, who held the certificate to which
Josiah Jones claimed to be entitled.

After the twenty-seven whose right to
admission was not questioned had been
sworn in however, the fight for the ad-
mission of Turley and Walters was re-
newed, and by the aid of Assemblymen
Arnwein and Woolverton, who after bolt-
ing on the previous day had now returned
to the party fold, and the acquiescence of
the two "Labor" men, the necessary ma-
jority was obtained and the gentlemen
from Camden and Trenton took the oath
of office and participated thenceforward
in the proceedings of the House through-
out the session.

It is hardly necessary to go into the
history of the effort to unseat these men,
which continued with great bitterness
throughout one-half of the session, but
it is, nevertheless, proper to take notice
of its continuance, because of the im-
portant bearing it had on the events of
the winter, and especially because it was
given as the basis for the Senate's refusal
to organize until nearly three weeks after
the day designated by law for that pur-
pose.

Despite all efforts to dislodge them,
Turley and Walters were held in their
places, although it turned out in the end
that retention made no difference as to
the general outcome of affairs. As refer-
ence, however, to the Senate's refusal
to organize at the usual time has been
made, it may be well to turn moment-
arily from observing the course of events
in the House and explain the attitude of
the Senate somewhat more at length.
The ground taken by the Republican
hold-over Senators who were in control
of that body was that by refusing to or-
ganize they could postpone the date of
going into joint meeting for the election
of a United States Senator by just so
many days as they should delay the or-
ganization of their branch of "the Legis-
lature." In other words, the "Legisla-
ture" consisted of its two branches, of
Senate and House, both duly organized,
and if non-existent could not, of course,
"meet" and be in session as contem-
plated by the Federal statute governing
the election of a United States Senator.
The failure to organize was an extraordi-
nary, and on its face, almost a revolution-
ary proceeding, but the Republican Sen-
ators alleged an extraordinary condition
in the House, created by what they held
to be a high-handed procedure in the

32

A MEMORABLE POLITICAL CONTEST.

Governor Joseph D. Bedle.

wrongful admission of Turley and Wal-
ters to seats pending the investigation
which should determine their right to
occupy them ; and they announced that
until this wrong had been righted they
would be justified in delaying an organi-
zation which, when completed, was likely
to be found in the control of an illegally
constituted majority, tt was a case of
"playing politics," perhaps, with the
party leaders on either side of the politi-
cal fence, but the situation presented a
very real difficulty and to most observers
it was not patent that either side to the
controversy was clearly enough in the
right to inveigh against the sins of the
other. The Republican Senators were
doubtless acting within their legal rights
as technically construed, but so the
Democrats in the House claimed to be>
and "honors" may have been more
nearly "even" than either side was will-
ing to admit.

Meantime the House did practically
nothing save quarrel over the Turley-
Haines and Walters-Jones contest until
the time came when, if both houses had
been in session the same length of time,
it would have been incumbent upon
theai to have gone into the election of a
United States Senator ; whereas a few
Senators amused themselves by meeting
from day to day and calling the roll and
adjourning for lack of a quorum.

With the passage of time came increas-
ing bitterness of feeling, but nothing
practical resulted until the Democrats in

the House decided, as one of them put
it, to take the bull by the horns and un-
dertake to elect a Senator by themselves.
If Republican Senators should refuse to
participate in the attempt, why, let them
do so, and take the responsibility. This
decision was reached after consultation
with the party leaders, and the program
included the taking of the oath of office
by the Democratic Senators-elect with-
out awaiting the organization of the
Senate, and the participation of the
Democratic Senators — both hold-over and
members-elect — in a so-called joint meet-
ing to be conducted under the auspices of
the House.

The proposed procedure was without
precedent, but it was gone about in all
apparent seriousness and served at least
to add to the interest of the onlookers.

On the 25th of January, Mr. Hudspeth,
of Hudson county, in pursuance of this
plan rose in his place (Mr. Armstrong
occupying the chair as Speaker pro.
tern.), and solemnly stated that as the
time contemplated by the Federal statute
had now arrived for voting upon the
question of electing a United States Sen-
ator, he would move that the House do
now temporarily adjourn in order to go
into joint meeting with members of the
Senate for tne accomplishment of that
purpose.

Opposition on the part of the Republi-
cans was strenuous under the lead of
Armstrong, Corbin, Oviatt and others,
but the motion was carried by a majority
of one and the House prepared to
"receive the Senate."

The entire body of Democratic Sena-
tors, save Senator Chattle of Monmouth,
then presented themselves, and, being
ceremoniously announced as "the Sen-
ate of New Jersey" by the obliging ser-
geant-at arms, entered and took their
seats. Assemblyman Hudspeth was
elected to preside, a secretary installed,
the roll called, 30 gentlemen answering
to their names, and the "joint meeting,"
after listening to nominations, proceeded
to ballot for a Senator.

Before this stage had been reached,
however, Assemblyman Wm. S. Throck-
morton, of Monmouth, rose and ad-
dressed the chair. And from this time
forward it will be noticed that "the gen-
tleman from Monmouth" held an im-
portant relation to all that transpired in

CHARLES S. TUNIS.

33

connection with the election of a United
States Senator who was to succeed Hon.
Wm.J. Sewell.

Mr. Throckmorton spoke with deliber-
ation and earnestness, and was closely
listened to. He said that he "felt the
time for taking a vote on this question
had not yet arrived. This Legislature
was not organized. It had not organized
legally." "I do not think, for my own
part," said he, "that I should yet name
my choice. The high honor of being a
United States Senator should not be con-
sidered as the property of any one man
to the exclusion of all others; no one
has a prescriptive right to it. I shall
vote, if this meeting decides to ballot on
this question, and shall vote for a distin-
guished Democrat from my own countv
of Monmouth, reserving the right to
change my vote whenever in my judg-
ment the interests of the Democratic
party require it. As long, however, as
this procedure continues I shall vote for
the gentleman to whom I have referred."

This public announcement of his po-
sition by Mr. Throckmorton at once ar-
rested attention. Up to this time it had
not been believed that he would irrevo-
cably commit himself to a program
which precluded him from coming to
the support of Governor Abbett if at any
stage of the contest the lack of his vote
should be the only bar to the latter's
election. His position now, however,
could no longer be regarded as equivocal
and those who knew the man best knew
there would be no turning back from the
course he had deliberately marked out.
Denunciation and threats of political
ostracism were alike wasted upon him,
and, on the other hand, the most tempt-
ing inducements in the way of proffers
of future political honors and emolu-
ments were as calmly ignored. Believ-
ing he was right, he let it be known that
he had the courage of his convictions.
There has been harsh criticism of the
stand taken by Mr. Throckmorton, but
that he was conscientious in taking it
and had the ability and dignity of char-
acter to maintain it, has vindicated alike
the correctness of his judgment and the
confidence reposed in him by his friends.

The gentlemen, however, who had
undertaken to carry through their pre-
arranged plans were not to be thwarted
in their purpose. Mr. Beckwith, of At-

Bj courtesy of N'ewark Kvening News.

Henry Stafford Little.

lantic, "nominated Leon Abbett as the
one man pre-eminently entitled to the
honor proposed to be conferred, and as
the man most endeared to the Democratic
workers of the State." Noonan, of Hud-
son, followed in a eulogistic seconding
speech. In the language of the present
day it was now "up to" Mr. Throckmor-
ton to carry out his declared intention,
in the last recourse, to present a candi-
date He, "therefore, rose again to
nominate a man, who, he claimed, was
every way worthy of the position and
was equally endeared to the Democrats
of the State. He had been a Judge of
the Supreme Court and a Governor of
this State, and he had filled those high
offices with honor and distinguished
ability. He was a man of unblemished
character and repute, whose conduct in
office would reflect credit upon the State.
He had the honor to nominate Joseph D.
Bedle, of Hudson, and formerly of Mon-
mouth county."

A ballot was then taken with the de-
clared result that, although 3K gentle-
men had voted for Leon Abbett, and one
(Mr. Throckmorton) for Joseph D. Bedle,
not enough votes has been cast for any one
candidate to elect him, and, in fact, there
had not been votes enough cast to con-
stitute a valid election had they all been
given to one candidate. Whereupon
this amateur "joint meeting" adjourned
to renew the process on succeeding leg-
islative days.

Among those Democrats not counted

34

A MEMORABLE POLITICAL CONTEST.

Hon. Rufus Blodgett.

as irrevocably committed to Abbett, al-
though they had gone through the mo-
tion of "voting" for him on this harm-
less ballot, were Senator Daniel E. Chase,
of Middlesex, and Assemblyman Horatio
N. Kinney, of Sussex; and Senator Chat-
tie, of Monmouth, had not been present.
This reckoning also fails to take into ac-
count Speaker Baird, who, although ab-
sent from the gathering described, still,
and always, proclaimed himself a Demo-
crat of the original type.

The scene now shifts to the 15th of
February. The Republicans, and indeed,
all parties concerned, were now con-
vinced that the time had at last arrived
when under the Federal statute the Leg-
islature was under a binding obligation
to enter in earnest upon the work of
electing a United States Senator. The
Senate, accordingly, proceeded to take
its separate vote for candidates, and the
following were placed in nomination:
General Wm. J. Sewell, by the Republi-
cans, acting in obedience to the decision
of the party caucus; Leon Abbett, by
those representing the Democratic cau-
cus; Joseph D. Bedle, by Senator Chat-
tie, of Monmouth, and George C. Lud-
low by Senator Chase, of Middlesex.
General Sewell received 12 votes; former
Governor Abbett, 6 votes; ex-Governors
Bedle and Ludlow, 1 each, and one Sen-
ator, Philip P. Baker, of Cumberland,
was absent.

On the same day the House, under

control of a Democratic majority, refus-
ing to vote, adjourned without action,
thus giving the lately refractory Senate a
taste of its own medicine, and at the same
time making it impossible for it to re-
port a separate vote to the following
day's joint meeting. There were indica-
tions, also, of an intention to attempt to
prevent a joint meeting by refusing to
meet with the Senate. But after sundry
motions looking to that end, the project-
ed plan was abandoned and the entire
membership of the House marched over
to the Senate at the hour appointed for
the joint meeting and participated in its
proceedings.

When the joint meeting was called to
order President Fish of the Senate was
elected to preside by a vote of 44 to 35
given for Mr. Hudspeth of the House,
who was put forward by the friends of
Governor Abbett, and after electing a
secretary and the adoption of one or two
other motions, the voting for United
States Senator began. On the previous
division, resulting in the election of Sen-
ator Fish to preside, besides the Repub-
licans and the two Labor men, the follow-
ing Democrats had voted for President
Fish: Senators Chase, Chattle and Mc-
Bride; Speaker Baird and Assemblymen
Kinney and Throckmorton.

Previous to the balloting for Senator
ex-Speaker Armstrong had nominated
General Sewell, Assemblyman Beckwith
had named Abbett, Senator McBride had
mentioned Thomas Kays, of Sussex, As-
semblyman Throckmorton had spoken for
Bedle, Senator Chase brought out George
C. Ludlow, and Labor's representative,
Assemblyman Donohue, had submitted
the name of Erastus E. Potter. The
vote was announced as 35 each for Sewell
and Abbett; 2 for Bedle (Chattle and
Throckmorton); 2 for E. E. Potter (Car-
roll and Donohue); 2 for Kays (McBride
and Kinney); 1 (Chase) for Ludlow; 1
(Corbin) for Cortland Parker; 1 (Young,
of Camden county) for Frederick A.
Potts; 1 (Hawkins, of Cumberland
county) for William E. Potter, and 1
(Speaker Baird) for William H. Morrow.
The result showed no election; and with
slight changes the joint meetings and
ballotings continued without indications
of approaching results until the first of
March. Among the few slight changes
noted, Baird had joined Chattle and

CHARLES S. TUNIS.

35

Throckmorton in voting for Bedle; but
otherwise nothing significant had trans-
pired.

Meantime in the House an unsuccess-
ful attempt, led by McDermitt, had been
made to oust Baird from the Speakership.
Throckmorton and Kinney and the two
Labor men, Carroll and Donohue, voting
with the Republicans to prevent, and
Baird himself refusing to vote.

[Following his defeat in the attempt
to disorganize the House, McDermitt
tried to force a quarrel on Throckmorton
by charging, in the latter's absence, that
he bad falsified a promise to vote for the
Speaker's displacement; but on Throck-
morton's return to the House on the fol-
lowing day the charge was indignantly
denied, and those who knew the Mon-
mouth man needed no other assurance
than his word to acquit him of a charge
in the nature of the circumstance too
unlikely to happen to be seriously enter-
tained.]

)n the joint meeting of March the 1st
came the first indications of the final
break-up. Abbett still held his own, but
Sewell lost 11; Bedle and Ka>s each went
up to 8; William Walter Phelps (all
along considered a? a possible compro-
mise, should no Republican stand a
chance of election) came in for 3; the
two Labor men still held to Potter, and
there was still one for Ludlow and one
for some other candidate not previously
mentioned.

Sewell was now concededly beaten;
Abbett was tottering and a dark horse
was likely to win, and the situation was
rapidly becoming one of absorbing in-
terest.

When the joint meeting convened the
next day Mr. Throckmorton moved for
a recess till 4 o'clock. When pressed
for a reason he said his motion was made
in the belief that "by a sincere effort to
find him, the right man for Senator could
be found and with a disposition to har-
monize all difficulties he felt that, if
found, such a one could be elected before
the close of the day's balloting." The
friends of Governor Abbett voted against
it, but the motion was carried and the
recess taken.

On reassembling a ballot was taken
amid indications of profound solicitude,
and when the result was announced it
was found that Rufus Blodgett, not pre-

David S. Crater.

viously voted for in any of the ballotings,
had received 39 votes to 38 for Abbett, 2
for Sewell, 1 for Kays, and 1 for Potter.
There was still no choice, but the result
trembled in the balance.

The second ballot was then taken amid
manifestations of increasing excitement,
and before its announcement the tally
showed that Blodgftt had 41, Abbett had
39, and Potter still turned up with 1.
Kinney, Democrat, and Dickinson, Re-
publican, had gone to Blodgett, and
Letts, Republican, had changed from
Sewell to Abbett, while Donohue re-
mained faithful to Potter. Before the
announcement an effort was made to
swing the Abbett men to Sewell, but it
could not be done, and, in spite of the
most strenuous efforts to prevent, Presi-
dent Fish announced the result of the
ballot and officially "declared Rufus
Blodgett elected to the Senate of the
United States for the ensuing term of six
years, beginning on the 4th day of the
current month. "

The long agony was over. Congratu-
lations and imprecations were mingled.
Speaker Baird, who had borne the brunt
of a winter's abuse, was at no pains to
conceal his satisfaction; Throckmorton
came in for plaudits, even from unex-
pected quarters, and Republicans vied
with the Independents in expressions of
relief that the end had crowned the
work. Governor Abbett, game to the
last, yielded to the inevitable with the

36

THE HARD TIMES'LL GIT YOU.

grace of a warrior beaten in a courageous
fight and launched his famous apothegm
that "even a poor Democrat was prefer-
able to any Republican."

But Blodgett was not admitted to be a
poor Democrat by those of his party who
had brought about his election at the
close of one of the most memorable con-
tests ever waged in New Jersey. Throck-
morton and Chattle stood sponsors for
his political orthodoxy, and those who
followed his subsequent career in the
Senate found him voting with his party
on all general political issues whilst
maintaining that attitude of independ-
ence on minor matters which has always
characterized him when divisions were
not strictly along party lines. Senator
Blodgett did many creditable things
while in the Senate and left a record that
his State has no reason to be ashamed
of.

Governor Abbett never reached the
Senate, but he was not discouraged by
his first reverse, and after seeking and
winning the Governorship again, he saw
the coveted prize he • had bent every
energy to secure, once more slip from
his grasp, and accepting the quieter
duties of judicial position, gave up poli-
tics and lived to end his days in compar-
ative but dignified retirement.

Rufus Blodgett still lives, hale, active
and clear-headed, and fully able, if need
be, to "fight his battles over again." He

has never been "written up," as many
public men with less claim to notice have
been, but the outline sketch that follows
may give the younger generation of read-
ers clearer ideas of the man and his ac-
tivities than they would otherwise ac-
quire, and the writer has been at some
pains to avoid any attempt at eulogy.

The sketch of Mr. Throckmorton that
follows is an unadorned account in the
fewest words of a brief life that had its
ambitions and ideals, and ended all too
soon. Assemblyman Throckmorton did
not lack for initiative or ability, but in the
course taken by him in the memorable
contest described he was not acting alone
upon his individual impulse or responsi-
bility. Among his supporters were able
advisers and earnest and conscientious
members of his paity. Besides Governor
Bedle, Henry Stafford Little, David S.
Crater, John H. Laird and others, there
were hundreds of sympathisers who be-
lieved in and supported him throughout
and after the close of the contest that put
him on his mettle and marked the culmi-
nation of his comparatively brief career.

NOTE — Personal sketches of ex-Senator
Blodgett and the late William S Throck-
morton will be given in the forthcoming
chapters with supplementary mention of
two or three others who stood close to the
latter throughout his life and were his
staunch supporters and trusted advisers
during the trying period of his second
year's legislative experience.

THE HARD TIMES'LL GIT YOU.

By WALTER D. NESBIT.

Mr. Edward Harriman is filling with

dismay,
Says we're rollin' onward to a dark an"

bitter day,
Says he's full o' shivers an' he's most

tremendous skeered
'Cause there maybe won't be any more

lambs to be sheared.
First he gave a whisper, but today he

gives a shout—
The hard times '11 git you if you

don't
watch
out!

Mr. Rockefeller's got a new congestive

chill;
Clamped a double lock upon his money

box an' till;
Looks into the future, an' he can't see no

relief;
Fears that you an' me are far upon the

way to grief;
Combs his wig an' murmurs in a voice

that's full of doubt,
The hard times '11 git you if you

don't
watch
out!

Lawson's in a frenzy with his articles an*

ads. ;
Warns us that the system's got the money

of our dads;
Creeps right up behind us till his breath

is on our neck,
Then he hisses hoarsely that we's bound

to have a wreck;
Begs don't hock your jewels or you'll

hustle up the spout—
The hard times '11 git you if you

don't
watch
out!

Better save your money an' be keerful

what you spend,
Pay back what you borrow an' look out

for what you lend;
Put away your pennies an' git friendly

with your job;
Old Hard Times is knockin' an' is turnin'

at the knob.
Don't go livin' splendid till you're crippled

with the gout —
The hard times '11 git you if you

don't
watch
out!

FOR FREEDOM'S CAUSE.

By WILLIAM P. EVERETT.

Chapter II.

ROOM into which
Luke Morris looked
was brilliantly illumi-
nated by the light from
a candelabrum and ev-
ery object was discern-
able.

The sight which made his blood boil
and his heart leap with anger and caused
him to clutch the pistol, concealed inside
his waistcoat, was the form of his affian-
ced bride, Alice Armstrong, struggling in
the arms of a man in the uniform of a
British officer. She was endeavoring
to free herself from theman's grasp.
The rage within him caused the veins
in Luke's forehead to swell almost to
bursting. He drew the pistol and lev-
elled it at the officer's back, but the
moving figures made his aim uncer-
tain and he dare not shoot for fear of
hitting Alice.

At this juncture the man, whose back
had been toward Luke, turned so that he
faced the window and Luke was sur-
prised beyond measure to recognize
George Burton. He had always had the
greatest respect for Burton aud thought
him a worthy rival for the hand of Alice,
but despite this opinion of Luke's and
notwithstanding Burton's gentlemanly
exterior, he was at heart a scoundrel.

His father had married the sister of
Alice's mother and George, being the
only child, had been indulged and hu-
mored in all his childish whims until his
nature had become warped and selfish.
As he grew older his indulgent parents
had continued to gratify his selfish de-
sires and extravagant tastes, and as he
had never been taught to curb his impul-
ses, it had resulted in making him a vic-
tim of ungovernable passions.

He was haudiome, had been carefully
educated and his manner was that of a
polished gentleman. With his acquaint-
ances he was very popular and he had

come to consider himself irresistible with
members of the gentler sex. Therefore,
when his cousin, Alice Armstrong, to
whose maidenly attractions he had fallen
a victim, and whom he really loved with
a love as strong as his selfish nature was
capable of, repulsed his affections and ac-
cepted the attentions of Luke Morris, he
was mad with chagrin and disappoint-
ment.

He had determined to win Alice, by
fair means if possible, but to possess her
in any event, and was crafty enough to
conceal his chagrin under a gentlemanly
exterior, thus preserving his friendly re-
lations with his cousin.

Her mother had died when Alice was
seventeen and she had been left to the
sole care of her father, who was her only
counsellor. With him Burton was highly
esteemed and a prime favorite.

This was the situation when the war
broke out, and George's father purchased
a lieutenant's commission in the British
army for him. He was assigned to a reg-
iment of the line and when Howe s suc-
cessful army was chasing the rebels in
retreat from Long Island across the Jer-
seys, and to the banks of the Delaware
river, George Burton was happy in the
thought that Luke Morris, who he knew
was one of the soldiers in the Continental
army, now flying for safety, would soon
be among the humiliated and despised
prisoners of war, which it was expected
the Britons would make of the band en-
listed for the cause of freedom, under the
leadership of George Washington.

When it was found the rebels had es-
caped, for the time being, across the
Delaware, Burton considered himself
lucky when his regiment was stationed at
Bordentown, where he was within easy
distance of Alice Armstrong's home.
He made the best of his opportunity and
visited her frequently, but in spite of his
endeavors his suit did not progress to his

38

FOR FREEDOM'S CAUSE.

satisfaction and he had come to see her
on the afternoon our story opens, with
the determination of bringing things to a
crisis.

As he rode from Bordentown a plan was
evolved in his mind which he thought
might prove feasable in the event of her
again rejecting him. About a month be-
fore he had been placed in charge of a
company of Tory recruits, for the purpose
of drilling and making them accustomed
to the strict discipline of the British reg-
ulars. Burton soon discovered that the
majority of these men were renegades of
the lowest type. He gradually assumed
powerful influence over them as their
leader and they had, under his guidance,
already coumitted depredations which
would not have been countenanced by
Burton's superiors had the nature of the
offenses become known. The plan he
now conceived was to cause his band of
Tories to harrass and intimidate Judge
Armstrong until the Judge would be will-
ing to do anything to obtain relief. Bur-
ton would then promise protection on
condition that Alice become his wife, and
he thought the Judge would in this way
be obliged to use his influence in gaining
the girl's consent. If this plan failed he
would then, with the aid of his Tories, ab-
duct Alice and force her to marry him.

When Burton arrived at the Armstrong
mansion his knock was answered by
black Sam, who ushered him into the li-
brary, where Judge Armstrong was seat-
ed. The Judge was a tall, athletic man,
somewhat past the middle age ; his face
was open and noble, and his manners
courteous and refined.

When Burton entered the room Judge
Armstrong greeted his visitor cordially,
and invited him to be seated. The young
man returned the Judge's salutation and
after a few commonplace remarks said :

" I hope Miss Alice is enjoying her us-
ual good health, sir."

"She is quite well, thank you," re-
plied the Judge, "but these are troub-
lous times, and while we may be well
physically, our minds are ill at ease."

This remark gave Burton an opening
and he gradually led the conversation to
a discussion of Alice's need of a protector
other than her father, finally declaring
his love for her and asking the Judge's
consent to his marrying her.

" But that cannot be," replied the

Judge. " You know she is already
affianced to Luke Morris, and while I
have the greatest respect for you, I can
not interfere with her choice as long as
it falls on so estimable a man as Morris."

"Luke Morris," cried Burton, "is a
traitor to the king. He is in the rebel
army, and will soon be a prisoner of war.
If he ever survives the hardships of a
military prison he will be penniless,
broken in health, and unfit to be the pro-
tector of any woman, much less a lady
of Alice's station in life. On the other
hand, I am an officer of the king, and
have the position and means to support
her as becomes the daughter of Judge
Armstrong. Why not, then, use your
influence with her in my behali?"

" My dear Burton, your argument is a
strong one, I must admit, and I should
like to see Alice established in a position
worthy of her attainments, but a woman's
love is not controlled by such practical
considerations as you put forth. I be-
lieve Alice truly loves Luke Morris, and
as I think he is worthy of her love, I
would not make her unhappy by object-
ing to her engagement to him."

" But if I can win her love from Morris,
then have I your consent to her hand?"
asked the crafty Burton.

" In case she should transfer her affect-
tions from Luke to you, I could offer no
objection to her marrying as worthy a man
as I believe you to be," replied the Judge.

During the foregoing discussion Burton
was hardly able to govern his temper,
but contrived to cunningly conceal his
true feelings under a gentlemanly de-
portment, and now the conversation
turned to other subjects and was prolong-
ed until the Judge remarked that it was
growing dark and ringing a bell, ordered
the servant who answered, to bring can-
dles. Burton thereupon arose and said :

"I must be going, Judge. I hadn't
noticed that it was growing so late. I
would like before departing, however,
to pay my respects to Miss Alice."

" Certainly, Burton, she would doubt-
less feel affronted if you should fail to see
her before going," replied the Judge, and
then, turning to the servant, asked, " Do
you know where Miss Alice is, Jim?"

"Yes, sah," answered the negro,
"she's in de parlor, sah."

" Don't call her, Judge," interposed
Burton, "I'll step in the room as I pass

" He saw the gleam of two pistols levelled at his breast, and the voice continued ;
" ' Luke Morris, you are my prisoner.' "

40

FOR FREEDOM'S CAUSE.

and exchange a few words with her. I
have but a minute to stay."

"Just as you please," replied Judge
Armstrong, and he shook his visitor's
hand in farewell.

Burton went to the parlor, preceded
by the servant, who carried a lighted taper,
with which he lit the wicks of a can-
delabrum. As the room was diffused
with light from the candles, Burton saw
Alice Armstrong seated in an arm-chair,
sound asleep. So unconscious was her
slumber that the entrance of the two men
failed to awaken her.

Motioning the servant to withdraw, he
turned his gaze upon the sleeping girl.
For the time being, all his senses seemed
to be concentrated in his eyes, which
were fixed with intense longing upon the
beautiful figure before him.

Alice Armstrong had but lately passed
her nineteenth birthday, and was one of
the loveliest girls the sun ever shone upon.
She was a blonde of the rarest and purest
type ; her features were faultless, her
hair like spun gold ; her complexion
had all the delicacy and richness of a sea-
shell, her eyes were blue as cloudless
skies at twilight, and her form was per-
fection itself.

No wonder then that the heart of Geoge
Burton, villain though he was, softened
when he gazed upon her.

Fairer than flower or star she sat, or
rather half reclined, in the large arm-
chair.

There is a mysterious power in inno-
cence— and the face of the slumbering
girl beamed with so angelic an expression
that the only worthy feelings which the
worldly rogue, who gazed upon her had
felt for years, arose in his heart, like the
waters of a spring, which after being long
choked up, force their way through all
obstructions, and bubble forth into sun-
shine.

At that moment he felt that he could
throw himself at her feet, confess the
diabolical scheme he had formed, and
offer to commit himself body and soul to
her guidance, to serve, to worship her,
if she would but give him her love.

The intensity of the man's gaze seemed
to be felt by the slumbering girl, for her
eyelids quivered and then slowly opened.
For a moment her eyes failed to take in
the scene before her, and then, as the sit-
uation dawned upon her consciousness,

she uttered a startled exclamation and
sprang to her feet.

Burton, unaccustomed as he was to con-
trol his impulses, was overcome by a long-
ing to caress the beautiful girl. He felt
an intense desire to embrace her, to kiss
her hair, her cheeks, her lips. His
senses reeled, and casting aside all re-
serve, he sprang to her side and clasped
her in his arms. Alice struggled to free
herself, but he only held her the tighter,
and mad with passion, endeavored to
rain kisses on her face.

The frightened girl tried to scream,
but Burton held her so close that the
sound could not leave her lips. She felt
her strength departing and was ready to
swoon when the man's embrace relaxed
for a moment and she was enabled to
emit a terrified cry.

The next instant a hand was laid on
Burton's collar and he was dashed back-
ward with stunning force to the floor,
and then the villain saw bending over
him, white with anger, the face of Luke
Morris.

George Burton turned pale with fear,
and well he might, for there was an ex-
pression on Luke's face that boded him
ill — it was fixed as fate and pitiless as
death itself.

With Luke's knee on his chest his
struggles were unavailing, and the vise-
like grasp at his throat prevented his
breathing and rendered him powerless to
even beg for mercy. His heart sank
within him and he gave himself up for
lost.

The whole scene had passed so quickly
— though it takes so long to describe —
that Alice's mind was confused, and she
could scarcely understand what she saw.
But she understood enough to know that
there was about to be blood-shed, and
her woman's instinct told her what to do.

She seized Luke's arm and exerted all
her strength to tear his grasp from Bur-
ton's throat.

"For mercy's sake, do not kill him !"
she cried.

"Let go," replied Luke, between his
clenched teeth, at the same time strug-
gling to release his arm.

"No, I will not let go," said Alice,
clinging to him; "for my sake, spare
him."

"Do you care for him, then?" asked
Luke, bitterly.

WILLIAM P. EVERETT.

41

"Care for him? No, indeed! But I
would not have you murder him."

Reluctantly Luke released his hold on
Burton's throat and arose to his feet, just
as Judge Armstrong, who had heard
Alice's scream, rushed into the
room.

As his glance took in the scene the
Judge halted, astounded and confused at
what he saw. Then, recognizing Luke,
he exclaimed:

"You here, Morris? and fighting with
Burton ! I am surprised."

Then turning to Burton, who had
slowly and painfully regained his feet,
he exclaimed:

"Explain the meaning of this, sir. An
officer of the King and my guest fight-
ing in my house and in the presence of
my daughter. Have you both forgotten
the proper conduct of gentlemen ?"

"I cannot explain the meaning of it,
sir," replied Burton, in whose face terror
had given place to a look of defiance. "I
can only tell you that I was assaulted by
Morris After I left you in the library a
while ago, I came to the parlor and
found Miss Alice asleep. I awakened
her and was suddenly attacked by that
ruffian," and he nodded toward Luke.

"Not without provocation, by any
means," interposed Luke. "I caught
you struggling with my fiancee; for what
purpose I know not, but I am sure it
was for no good."

Judge Armstrong turned, inquiringly,
to Alice, who was pale and trembling
with the excitement through which she
had passed. Thus interrogated she ex-
plained how she had awakened to find
Burton standing over her; how she had
sprang to her feet in fright and was
caught in his arms; how she struggled
to free herself, and finally how her lover
had rushed in and released her from her
cousin's grasp.

"What !" exclaimed Judge Armstrong,
eyeing Burton sternly, "how dare you
take liberties with my daughter, sir?"

"I meant no offense, Judge," replied
Burton. "I found Miss Alice asleep, and
what I did was merely a piece of pleas-
antry."

"A piece of pleasantry to offer an in-
dignity to my daughter?" thundered the
Judge. "I am tempted, sir, to chastize
you with my own hand."

"I assure you " commenced Bur-

ton, but Judge Armstrong interrupted
him, saying:

"Not another word, sir. Your conduct
is inexcusable, and the sooner you leave
my premises the better."

"I will go quick enough, never fear,"
said Burton, sullenly, "but Luke Morris
goes with me; he is a rebel in arms
against the King, and is within our lines
in disguise. It is my duty to arrest him
as a spy."

"I'll have a word or two to say about
that," remarked Luke.

"Say what you will, but if you refuse
to go quietly I will call my orderly and
take you at all hazards."

"I will have no disposition to part
company with so redoubtable a warrior,
if you and your orderly, together, can
take me," replied Luke, jeeringly.

"Tut, tut, gentlemen !" exclaimed
Judge Armstrong, who was alarmed at
this phase of the situation, knowing that
it would go ill with Luke were he ar-
rested as a spy, "do not descend to un-
dignified threats. I will ask you, Lieu-
tenant Burton, to depart quietly and
peacably, as becomes a gentleman.
We both know that Mr. Morris is here
simply to call on his fiancee, with no
intention of gaining military informa-
tion, and to arrest him as a spy would
be an act of injustice that no British offi-
cer should be guilty of."

"Very well, sir," said Burton, who ap-
peared to suddenly change his mind and
assume a less aggressive attitude, "I
will go without him. But let me warn
you, Judge Armstrong, it will not be
well for you to have it known that you
harbor, under your roof, a traitor to the
King."

Bowing with mock courtesy, Burton
turned on his heel and left the house
without another word.

When Burton was gone Judge Arm-
strong questioned Luke about the cir-
cumstance of his being there, and the
young man explained how he had come
to visit Alice; how he had -hid in the
stable to wait until dark, and of his
meeting black Sam there, and then,
when the negro failed to return, he had
concluded to go to the house; how he
had taken the precaution to look in the
window before announcing himself, and
what he saw.

"I was tempted to shoot through the

42

MY RIVAL.

window," said Luke, "but was afraid of
hilting Alice and so, putting my pistol
up, I ran to the front door, which I for-
tunately found unlocked. I rushed in
and floored the villain in time to save
Alice from, I know not what, but fear
the worse."

"I am astonished at Button's con-
duct," said the Judge, "his actions to-
ward Alice is inexcusable, and I am no
less surprised at his subsequent attitude.
His manner was certainly not becoming
the dignity of an officer."

A servant now entered to announce
that supper was ready, and Luke accom-
panied Alice and the Judge to the dining-
room. During the meal the conversa-
tion turned on the prospects of an early
termination of the war. Luke could
offer nothing to encourage a hope that
hostilities would soon cease, but the
Judge was more optimistic and declared
his belief that within a few months the
armies would be disbanded.

After supper Judge Armstrong retired
to the library and Luke was left alone
with Alice. This opportunity for a re-
newal of their vows was made the most
of by the young lovers and the time for
Luke's departure came all too quickly.

"It is a long way to the river," said

Luke, "and I must go before it becomes
unsafe. You know Burton may put his
threat into execution, and give informa-
tion that would lead to my capture, if I
tarry too long."

"Oh, no," replied Alice, "he surely
would not be so despicable as that."

Luke, however, thought it best to go
without further delay, and Judge Arm-
strong, who was informed that he was
ready to depart, came down to say fare-
well. He joined Alice in wishing the
young man godspeed and together they
watched him disappear in the darkness
as he took his way down the lane toward
the highway.

The night was cold and Luke walked
briskly to keep the frosty air from chill-
ing him. He had reached the end of the
lane and turned into the Brunswick road,
when he stopped abruptly on seeing two
horsemen emerge from the shadow of a
tree.

Luke was about to retreat when a
sharp challenge rang out on the night air:

"Halt!"

He saw the gleam of two pistols
levelled at his breast, and the voice con-
tinued:

"Luke Morris, you are my prisoner.
Throw up your hands."

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

MY RIVAL.

By THOMAS HOLMES.

Around his brow are clustering curls ;

Curls with a golden tint.
His eyes are bright and in their light,

I always find a hint
Of triumph, when he looks at me

And smiles in his witching way.
"I share the heart of the woman you love,"

I hear my rival say.

The woman I love, I know loves him ;

Her manner tells me so.
I covertly watch, and in her eyes

I see the tell-tale glow
Of a love as strong as the years are long,

And as deep as the mighty sea ;
And I often wonder which she loves best,

My charming rival or me.

My rival and I are the best of friends.

He will tell you so.
The tender heart of the woman we love,

Is faithful to both, we know.
No jealous pang, nor envious thoughts

Have disturbed my dream of joy,
For the woman, long since, became my
wife,

And my rival's our baby boy.

PROVENCE ROSES.

By VIRGINIA TAYLOUR.

IT was a mild December day— gray,
damp aud still. In a quaint old
manor garden the yellow and
white chrysanthemums continued
to hold up their heads bravely, and a
few belated stocks and violets tried to
give a cheerful aspect to that desolate
thing, a mixed border that in late au-
tumn has not yet been set in order for
the spring.

Today the color in the scene was
supplied by the cap of a small boy aud
the red petticoats of some little girls
The occasion was scarcely one that
called for gayety, for the group of per-
sons assembled on the terrace, consist-
ing of a father and his rive children,
varying in ages from six to sixteen.
were gathered together for the pur-
pose of planting a rose tree grown
from a cutting which had been taken
from the white Provence rose that
bloomed above the mother's faroff
grave.

Mr. Harcourt, carefully carrying the
rose tree, headed the little procession
from the conservatory to a lower gar-
den inclosed by yew hedges and full
now of leafless rose trees.

The children straggled after their
father. Eleanor, the eldest girl, tried
to lead by the hand the youngest child,
a sturdy boy of six, but he constantly
broke away from her to prance in the
exuberance of youthful spirits round
his father. In the father's manner
there certainly seemed to be more of
the interest of the gardener than of
the sentiment of the widower as he
paused beside the plot of earth that
had been prepared for the rose tree.
He knelt down and with careful hands
settled the little plant in its hole and
then, keeping it upright, signed to
Eleanor, who held a trowel, to put the
earth over its roots.

When it was perceived that there was
active dabbling in the earth connected
with the ceremony, Johnnie, the young-
est boy, was immediately seized with
an ardent desire to assist.

"Let me help!" he cried, twisting him-
self with a scowl out of the grasp of an
elder brother who tried to hold him.

"Oh, for shame, Johnnie!" "Be quiet,
Johnniol" came in varviua tones, of

remonstrance from the others, except
Eleanor, who said gently :

"Let him help. He is the youngest."

"Johnnie wants to help you, papa,"
Eleanor now said.

"Of course he shall help me, the dear
little fellow!" he exclaimed.

The planting of the rose tree was
thus accomplished under the fiction
that Johnnie's help had been indis-
pensable.

"Now," remarked Mr. Harcourt, ris-
ing and stepping back to survey the ef-
fect of his work, "if we don't have
frost for a few days it ought to do very
well. I hope it will, for, to my mind,
this old white Provence moss rose is
one of the loveliest roses imaginable.
It has unfortunately been permitted to
die out in most English gardens."

This speech hurt Eleanor. With the
inconsequence of youth, she at once
jumped to the conclusion that her fa-
ther thought more of the intrinsic
merits of the rose tree than of its ten-
der associations, but the next moment
he proved her wrong.

"It was your mother's favorite rose,"
he added in a different tone. He look-
ed around upon the group. "Children,"
he said, "I should like to talk to you a
little about your mother. She"— His
eyes traveled over the faces of his five
motherless children, all turned half ex-
pectantly, half shyly toward him.
Something pathetic in the sight awoke
the widower's dormant grief. His voice
faltered a little. "She was good-
wood," he went on hurriedly. "I pray
that you may all be like her."

He could say no more, but, turning
away, disappeared behind the yew
hedge that screened the garden from
tiew. ^

For a moment the five children left
behind stood silent and awed; then,
moved by a common desire to escape
from this unwonted sense of discom-
fort, all but Eleanor turned to run
away.

Eleanor put out her hand and caught
Johnnie by the sleeve of his jacket and
detained him.

"Don't go yet, Johnnie," she said per-
suasively. "I want to talk to you

■limit mnthav."

44

PROVENCE ROSES.

The child, subdued for the moment
from his usual waywardness, yielded
to her touch and voice.

"Oh, Johnnie," she said, and as she
spoke the boy, with his head on her
shoulder, inhaled the delicate fragrance
of the roses at her breast and pinned
to his own jacket, "mother loved you
so! She loved you the best of all of
us. I want you when you grow up to
remember that. She used to hold you
in her arms before she went away to
die and kiss you and cry: 'Oh, that
my baby may grow up to be a good
man! Tell him he must always be
good, honorable, brave and true.' "

The girl spoke passionately, excited-
ly, and the wondering child beside her,
infected by her passion, listened to
her, half understanding indeed, but
none the less powerfully impressed.
When his sister broke down in a
storm of tears, he put his arm round
her neck crying, while the scent of the
roses penetrated yet more strikingly to
his senses.

"I will be good, Nellie; I will indeed."

*******

Thirty years had passed away since
the white Provence rose had been
planted in that yew sheltered manor
garden. The rose had done well, and
it— or others from its stem— still grew
and blossomed there. But those who
had witnessed the planting of the tree
had long since gone their ways in time
or in eternity. The elder brother lived
alone in the old manor house. The
younger had by divers ways acquired
fame in a sphere of his own. He was
called a great financier. Money grew
under his touch. His name on the
board of directors of any new com-
pany was an instant signal for in-
vestors, small and great, to venture
their money boldly.

Though a very rich man and growing
daily richer, he had never married.
The interest of money making absorb-
ed all his faculties.

He was sitting in his private room
in the city one day late in June.

"This Finnish Fishtail company will
work out very well for me," he said
to himself. "But— I wish. Well, it is
not my fault that there are so many
fools In the world."

He rose and walked to the window
and stood looking out across the crowd-
ed street. But it was evident that he
was thinking of nothing that he saw
there.

A tap at the door was followed by
the entrance of one of his clerks.

"SHE LOVED TOU THE BEST OF ALL OF
US."

"There is a young lady who wishes to
see you, sir," said the man somewhat
hesitatingly, for he knew that he had
failed in his duty when he had permit-
ted it to become a question whether
any young lady should or should not
see John Harcourt. His nervousness
was warranted. The financier frowned
angrily.

"I never see young ladies or old ones
either," he returned severely. "You
know that perfectly well."

"I know, sir," the clerk answered
deprecatingly. "But"—

"I begged so hard to be allowed to
see you," interrupted a soft, girlish
voice, and both men started and turned
to the door to see standing there a
maiden of two and twenty or there-
abouts.

"Don't be angry with me," she plead-
ed as her auditors, rendered dumb by
her audacity in appearing uninvited in
the great man's sanctum, stood staring
at her. "I followed him up. Don't
send me away. It is so important that
I should see you and ask your advice."

She was young and very pretty, and
there was something irresistibly pa-
thetic in her voice. The financier was,
after alk_but a man.

VIRGINIA TAYLOUR.

45

"Well." he answered, smiling, though
a little grimly, "since you have contriv-
ed to evade the guardians of my pri-
vacy, you shall have the reward your
courage deserves. Come in."

The clerk retired much relieved. John
Harcourt handed tlie girl a seat and
placed himself again before the writing
table, facing her. She was slim, grace-
ful, gray eyed and flaxen haired. But
he had seen pretty girls before and was
prepared not to allow her beauty to af-
fect his judgment beyond reason. She
was dressed in deep mourning, relieved
only by a bunch of white roses tucked
carelessly into the bosom of her gown.

"It is about the Finnish Fishtail
shares that I want to ask you," she be-
gan.

His face contracted slightly, but he
did not speak. He merely inclined his
head to imitate that he was listening.

She wanted to know if he advised her
to invest her money in them. She had
come up from the country that morn-
ing expressly to ask his advice. She
went on to explain very simply and
clearly that since her father's recent
death a certain sum of money had be-
come her own. It was practically all
hers and her mother's fortune. She
had no trustees. She was at liberty to
do what she would with it, and of
course she and her mother were very
anxious to get as large an income from
it as possible. The Finnish Fishtail
company offered so much higher inter-
est than dull things like consols and
railways.

"Only," she added, looking confiding-
ly at him, "sometimes when you put
your money into companies you lose
it."

His face contracted again, but again
he only nodded assent, his eyes fixed
on the white roses tucked into her
gown. They stirred some vague mem-
ory within him while he listened to the
story she went on to tell him of a
friend of her mother's, a widow with
many children, who had put her mon-
ey into the Banana Jelly company and
had lost it all.

John Harcourt had made money by
the Banana Jelly company in a per-
fectly legal way. He would make
money, also in a perfectly legal way,
by the Finnish Fishtail company,
whether others lost or won.

"And now." the girlish voice went
on, 'the children are starving, and she
is trying to support them by taking in
needlework, which she does not know
how to do. Is it uot dreadful ?"

"It is always a mistake for ladies
who do not know how to watch the
money market to invest in new com-
panies. Better invest in consols. It is
better to be content with a lower but
safer interest," he concluded.

The girl looked disappointed, but she
recognized the sincerity and finality
of his tone. Murmuring something
about having her train to catch, she
rose to go. As she did so the bunch of
roses in her gown fell to the floor,
lohn Harcourt stooped to pick them up.
and as he took them in his hand their
fragrance penetrated to his senses, and
the vague memory that had half un-
consciously disturbed him for the last
quarter of an hour started into dis-
tinct shape before him.

The present faded from his view.
The years rolled back, and he stood,
Dnce more a child, in the yew hedged
manor garden. He lived again through
the scene of the planting of the rose
tree.

mow naa ne ruiniiea tne nope or mat
prayer? He stood so long holding the
roses in his hand and looking down at
them with the look of one whose mind
was far away that the girl wondered.

"I must go," she said at last.
"Thank you very much for your kind-
ness in advising me."

Her voice recalled mm to me pres-^
ent. He looked at her. She was hold-
ing out her hand for the roses.

"If you really wish to thank me," he
said, "eive me these."

For ah instant she stiffened, ber
young dignity wounded. But when she
glanced at him she realized that there
was no thought at all of her behind
the request, and the stiffening fell
from her.

"With njeasure," she answered sim-
ply-

"Where did you get them?"

He asked the question as he crossed
the room to open the door for her.

"From a lovely old yew hedged gar-
den which the lady with whom I am
staying in Hampshire took me to see
yesterday," she replied.

"Ah!"

The exclamation was so snarp tnat
the girl once more looked at him in
surprise, but his face was impassive.
He was holding the door open for her.
As she passed out he said:

"If you know any one who has shares
in the Finnish Fishtail company, tell
them to sell at once."

He closed the door behind her and.
sitting down again at the writing ta-
ble. Laid the roses before him.

46

A RAILROAD DETOUR.

From his mother's garden! It was
years since he had walked in that gar-
den in tne time or roses, tiis brotners"
life and his lay far apart. It was but
rarely that he could find time to run
down for a day's visit to the old home,
but now as he sat with his head in his
bands and the scent of the roses float-
ing up to his nostrils he was there
again. It was from the roses on his
sister's breast that the scent came,
hrlusinff with it her voice:

"Oh, Johnnie, you must never ao"
anything that mother in heaven would
grieve over!"

Would she grieve over the ruin of
those widows and orphans whose folly
was no fault of his? ^^

That gentle sister had long since
passed away, but now as he looked
back on his own early life and hers he
saw how faithfully she had striven to
fulfill a mother's part to him. He re-
membered once hearing some one say,
"That girl is her mother over again."

Once more his arms were round her

neck, and with tne scent of tne roses
permeating his senses he was promis-
ing that he would never do anything
that might grieve his mother in heaven.

He bowed his head upon the roses,
and long unaccustomed tears rose to
his eyes.

Half an hour later he had written a
letter which made him liable for all the
money which the ignorant public had
invested in the Finnish Fishtail com-
pany. He rang the bell and desired
the clerk to have it posted at once.

John Harcourt knew himself. He
knew that tomorrow he would prob-
ably regret his action and curse him-
self for a sentimental fool, but tomor-
row it would be too late. The deed
would be done, as far at least as the
Finnish Fishtail company was con-
cerned.

He walked out of his office financial-
ly a much poorer man than he had
been for many years. Morally? He in-
haled the fragrance of the roses and
for that day at least murmured,
'•Thank God."

A RAILROAD DETOUR.

By FRANK H. SWEET.

'ry^i

I HE Honduras has arrived two
days earlier than expected.
Report at once. You will
take twenty cars over the N.
I. and N., via St. Louis, to Cincinnati,
where you will leave ten as per In-
structions which will be handed you.
and then go on with the rest to Chi-
cago."

The order was addressed to "Mes-
senger 17," and the office boy who de-
livered it knew that 17 meant Carl
Reuter of Rue Citronelle.

But Carl Reuter was just recovering
from a severe attack of the grip,
brought on by exposure while deliver-
ing fifteen cars of bananas over the
L. and N. to Atlanta ten days before.
A sudden blizzard had swept down
upon them from the northwest, stalling
the train with packed snow and lower-
ing the thermometer 40 degrees in
twice that many minutes. The cars
had been warmed as usual before leav-
ing New Orleans, with the expectation
that the great mass of moist fruit
would generate enough heat of itself
for later warmth. Rut the change bad
come too soon and been too great, and
in saving the fruit under bis care Mes-
senger 17 had neglected to take care of
himself. He had got back to New Or-

leans, made bis report, been compli-
mented on getting his fruit through
the blizzard in good condition and then
had hurried home and to bed.

No steamer had come in since, and
the Honduras was two days ahead of
her time. Moreover, Carl was not a
man who cared to share his personal
matters with the public. Even his ill-
ness was his own. So it happened that
the company had not heard.

But twenty minutes after the order
came Carl Reuter, aged nineteen, was
hurrying Into the office on the com-
pany's wharf. A new man was at the
desk.

"Seventeen, sir," began Carl when
the man, whose eyes were running
down a page of a ledger before him,
interrupted with:

"Oh. yes, I see, 17. You are Carl
Reuter?"

"Yes, sir. My father"—

But the man was pushing an envel-
ope toward him.

"There's your instructions. Now hur-
ry. You're a younger man than I im-
agined from what I have heard of you.
Rut sometimes young men do fully as
good work as the older ones. No, no,"
as Carl tried to speak, "there's no time
for talk now. Your cars are nearly

FRANK H. SWEET.

47

ready, 1 expect. We're half a thou-
sand men down there emptying the
steamer and loading the cars. The
Honduras brought in the largest and

"theee's your instructions. now

HURRY."

finest lot we ever had, and they're go-
ing to be rushed through to market.
The agent told me to tell you messen-
gers to be especially vigilant with your
thermometers on this trip. Have them
ripen or retard the bananas so they
will reach market in exactly the right
condition. But of course you under-
stand all this."

"Of course," Carl assented mechan-
ically. Then, with evident anxiety,
"My father is"—

"Never mind your father now," brisk-
ly. "You may tell me about him when
you come back. Your train is on the
wharf, track 3, forty cars, twenty of
which will be in charge of Messenger
9, who will switch off at Corinth for
Memphis. Get your section heated as
rapidly as possible and then remove
the stoves. By the time you're through
the train will be ready to pull out, I
think. Hustle! Oh, here's Messenger
9 now."

A heavily bearded man stopped at
the desk and took the envelope which
was handed him and then listened, to
the same advice Carl had been given.
Carl lingered, apparently hoping for a
chance to finish what he had com-
menced to say, but more messengers
were hurrying into the office, and the

man at me desk motionea imperatively
toward the wharf.

"Hurry along, 17," he ordered. From
what I've been told I suppose you to
be one of the best men we have, but
you mustn't loiter like that. You
haven't any time to waste in getting
your section ready."

Carl's lips tightened suddenly, and
he walked rapidly down the wharf,
overtaking the heavily bearded man a,*
he was crossing in front of two puffing
engines to track 3. The man looked at
him and nodded.

"Where's your father, CarlV" he ask-
ed. "Seems he and I are to be on the
same train this time, at least as far as
Corinth. I couldn't ask a better man
on a rush trip like this is going to be."

"Father's sick," answered Carl. "I
came down to see— to get his place.
I've been watching him the last four
or five nights, sleeping a little when 1
could, but he's well enough now to
look after himself until I get back."

"Sick?" with some surprise. "Why,
I hadn't heard. And you're to take
his place on this trip? Ain't you pret-
ty young? I wouldn't have thought
the company 'd agree to it, they're so
particular, though," hastily, "you're
perfectly competent, Carl. I know
that. You've been with your father so
many trips you know the ropes as
well 's he. And you've got a cool, clear
head. That's what counts in ripening
fruit by thermometers. Aud still— well,
you know yourself how the company is
about young help. I've got a boy of
your age that I hope to get into a mes-
senger's job some day, but I've never
expected to till he was twenty-five or
more. You're lucky; that's all I've got
to say. If you make this trip all right,
you'll be on the books for steady runs
before the year's out."

Carl's face had grown hot and un-
comfortable.

"You don't understand," he explain-
ed. "I"—

But a man down the track was look-
ing toward them and motioning. Mes-
senger 9 hurried away.

"Well. I hope you'll have good luck,
as, of course, you will," he called back
over his shoulder. "We'll be too busy
to see much of each other on the trip.
I take the twenty end cars on account
of switching off at Corinth. Yours'll be
forward."

Until that moment Carl's head had
been in a whirl. Events had followed
each other so rapidly, so apparently
bevond his personal option in the mat-

48

A RAILROAD DETOUR.

ter. that Tie had allowed himself to be
borne on the current. Now he decided
to let it go on. He had hurried down
to explain about his father and to see
if he would not be allowed to fill the
place. But from what he knew him-
self and from what 9 had just said he
realized how slight was the chance.
Perhaps even his father would be sus-
pended for a time. The company did
not make much allowance for sickness
or convalescence. Their work was too
important.

But, as 9 had conceded, he under-
stood the work and could probably do
it just as well as his father, and just
now they were in special need of em-
ployment. His younger Drotner was in

the hospital waiting an operation, and
money must be had to meet the ex-
penses.

So he hurried down track 3 to the
end of his — or rather his father's— sec-
tion of the train and began a careful
examination of the cars. Then he set
about seeing that they were properly
treated. The mercury was down to 34
degrees, which was unusually cold for
New Orleans, and 12 degrees lower
than the messengers had started out at
any previous time during the winter.
Other messengers were giving their
cars a little more heat than common,
for it would be twelve to fifteen hours
before the now cool bananas could be-
gin to generate warmth of their own, and
the freezing or even chilling of a train
load would mean the loss of a fortune.
Carl gave his cars several degrees more
than was customary and then had the
stoves removed and the doors closed.
Even with an outside low temperature
the carefully built cars would then re-
tain heat until the fruit began to gen-
erate some of its own. An hour later
the train pulled out.

A cold wave had been predicted, but
apparently some weather condition had
stayed or swerved it in another direc-
tion. Before they were beyond the city
limits the mercury commenced to rise,
and when they rumbled through Me-
ridian it marked 60 degrees and con-
tinued to go up.

Carl began to look anxious. All his
ventilators were now wide open, but
the air in the cars was moist and
stifling. Instead of being chilled, the
danger was now that the bananas
would overheat, which would be just
a 8 disastrous.

A messenger's duty is to see that his
fruit gets into market in just the right
condition. He must retard or advance

the ripening by cold or heat, according
to the condition of the fruit, the length
of the trip and other circumstances.
He must know from a mere glance at
a bunch of bananas how many degrees
of heat will be required to ripen it in
a prescribed number of hours, and if
he be a good messenger he must be
able to have his fruit in just the right
condition when he reaches his des-
tination, whether it be four days or
fourteen. With refrigerator cars and
ventilators it is comparatively easy
during the summer to shift the ther-
mometers to the requirements of the
fruit, and even in winter, when it con-
tinues cold, there are the initial stoves
and the generated warmth to depend
upon, but when an unexpected hot
wave confronts a messenger in mid-
winter he has little but the resource
of his own ingenuity to count on. Such
a problem was now facing Carl. When
they pulled Into Corinth the mercury
was 70 degrees, and there was no air
stirring. Another twenty-four hours
like this and he would scarcely get his
fruit to Cincinnati, much less Chicago.
Messenger 9 came to him as his sec-
tion was being transferred to a train
for Memphis. The weather report stat-
ed that it was 12 degrees warmer at
Memphis than H Corinth, and 9 was
looking perturbed. His market was
only a short distance away now, but
twelve more degrees meant an un-
controlled ripening of the fruit. It
c-ould not reach even that near market
in prime condition, which was every
messenger's ambition.

"I'm out and out sorry for you, Carl,"
said 9 sympathetically. "It's going to
be tough on all the messengers with
such a special lot of fruit, but you'll
have it worst. They assigned your fa-
ther to the long Chicago run because
he has the name of being the best man
on the road, but for that very reason
it'll be worse on jou, being your first
trip. You'll likely get some seconds to
Cincinnati, but I'm afraid the Chicago
ten cars won't pay the running cost
over the railroads— that is, unless it
turns cold within a few hours."

But there was no prospect of its
turning cold. A hurried consultation
of the weather bureau at Corinth show-
ed that three or four more days of
warm weather were predicted. It was
warm all along the road to Cincinnati,
to Chicago. The only cool places in
the country seemed to be in the moun-
tains, about Chattanooga, up the Hud-
son and west in the Rockies. Messen-
ger 9 advised him to take the resnonsi-

FRANK H. SWEET.

49

WHEN THEY PTTI/LED IN THE MERCURY
WAS SEVENTY DEGREES.

bility of selling the fruit at Corinth"
for what it would bring. That would
save the company its total loss and
transportation charges.

Carl was not ready for that, how-
ever. The consultation of the weather
reports had already given his quick
brain another idea, daring, but entirely
feasible, he thought. His cars would
have to wait three hours at Corinth to
connect with a freight which pulled
out directly behind the through ex-
press north. Carl utilized the first
forty minutes of these three hours in
developing his plan. He went straight
to the office of the Southern railway,
whose branch ran from Corinth to
Chattanooga and there connected with
the N. I. and T. for Cincinnati and
Chicago.

"Wish to run your cars over our
road?" asked the division superintend-
ent after listening to Carl's hurried re-
quest. "Yes, I reckon so. We'll couple
them to the" afternoon freight, which
pulls out about dark. The morning
freight leaves in half an hour, and
there isn't time to connect you with
that. Besides, the train alreadv has

ttiirty-rour cars, as much as the engine
can carry up grade."

"But that's the very train I want to
:ouple to," urged Carl impetuously.
"You forget that I have an engine.
Why can't we put the two ahead?
They'll pull fifty-four cars all right
aven up grade."

The superintendent nodded thought-
fully.

"Yes, that might do," he said. "In
fact, I think it will do very well.
There's considerable snow up Chatta-
nooga way, and two engines can plow
through it better than one. But we'll
have to hustle if we get you connected,
for the train must pull out on time.
There's another follows it forty min-
utes later."

They did hustle, and when the train
pulled out for Chattanooga Carl's twen-
ty cars formed part of it. Besides hav-
ing all the ventilators open, each car
had its door rolled back to let in every
whiff of air possible. At Decatur the
thermometers indicated 45 degrees, at
Stevenson 34 degrees. Carl closed all
the doors and partly closed the ven-
tilators of the cars destined for Cincin-
nati. He was willing they should have
a few more degrees of heat now and
believed that he saw the way to get-
ting his fruit to both markets in prime
condition. At Chattanooga the mer-
cury registered 29 degrees, and all the
ventilators were closed.

Eight days later Carl reported at the
office on the company's wharf. The
man at the desk listened to his expla-
nation in grim silence, tapping the
ledger with the head of his pencil oc-
casionally.

"It's something very unusual," he
said when Carl finished, "very unusual
and — er — reprehensible, running our
cars about the country in a wild way
like that. Ordinarily it would mean
iismlssal from our service— permanent
discharge— but— er," his face relaxing
somewhat, "under the circumstances,
and in view of the fact that you had
the longest run and ape the only mes-
senger who got his fruit into market
In prime condition, we will say no more
about it except that we have put your
name on our books for regular runs. I
hope your father will be well enough
to make his trip when the next boat
comes in. We do not like to spare good
men. And, oh, yes." as Carl was turn-
ing away, his eyes shining, "the cashier
has a little recognition for you fiom
the company. You may stop at tils
window as you go ^y."

A NEW PICTURE OF HOLLAND'S BEAUTIFUL YOUNG QUEEN.

Photographs of the pretty young queen of Holland are always interesting
Queen Wilhelmina no longer shows the peachy bloom of girlhood, as on the
day of her coronation, but the cares of state have not robbed her of her beauty.
She is more mature and matronly, but still pretty. The accompanying picture
shows her in profile and is one of the best likenesses of the popular sovereign
of the Netherlands.

TRAPPING THE CULPRIT.

By HOWARD FIELDING.

TO me, in the midst of a busy
morning, there entered an office
boy with the card of Mr. Lucius
Werner of the United States
weather bureau. At the bottom of the
card the word "Over" was written and
upon the back this sentence: "For rea-
sons which I shall explain I think that
our interview should be strictly pri-
vate."

Now, why in the world should the
weather man desire a private inter-
view? There can be no "graft" in his
office surely. He can furnish no special
brand of weather to those who will
fatten his pocket, and, except in his
official capacity as the author of the
local predictions in the morning paper,
Mr. Werner seemed extremely remote
from my affairs.

Mr. Werner proved to be a robust
and florid young man, yet of a studi-
ous aspect withal and very courteous
in his demeanor.

"You are high up here," said he, with
a gesture toward my window, which
overlooked all the neighboring house-
tops, "but I am higher. From the tow-
er of the Exchange building, where my
office is, I can look into these rooms,
and I have recently seen something
here which seems to me very strange."

"Well," said I, "what was it?"

"For two nights," he replied, "I have
seen a man at work at this desk. You
have no shades, eh? That is odd."

"They were not up when I took the
offices," said I, "and as these are north
windows I never bothered about the
matter."

I spoke hurriedly and ended with a
sign for him to proceed.

"My attention was first attracted by
a peculiar light," said he. "It was in
this room, and I happened to be look-
ing in this direction. There was a flare,
probably the lighting of a match, and
then a sort of glow that made me sus-
pect fire. I therefore took some pow-
erful nightglasses, and through them I
saw that a shaded lamp was burning
on that desk. Presently a man appear-
ed. He sat where you sit now, and for
a long time he examined documents,
one after another, hastily. If the room
had been lighted in the ordinary way

I might have got a fair Impression oT
the man and a better idea of what he
was doing, but because of this dark
lantern that he used I saw him only
as a vague shadow."

There was a brief pause.

"Mr. Werner," said I, "this is im-
portant, and I cannot help wishing
that you had told me sooner."

"I have a nervous dread of intru-
sion," he said, coloring. "Doubtless I
should have told you after the first
night."

"Will it be possible for me to watch
in your tower tonight?" said I.

"Certainly," he responded. "You
have missed nothing?"

"Not yet, but perhaps you noticed the
great number of letter files in the outer
room. There are documents in them
which might better be in the safe per-
haps. At any rate, I don't care to have
a stranger investigating them at mid-
night."

This was an evasion. I had a very
different idea as to the intruder's er-
rand in my office, but I hesitated to
take Mr. Werner into my confidence.
He, however, seemed perfectly satisfied
and presently took his leave.

Now, this is the way the case looked
to me: I was in litigation with the Las-
sell Construction company over a mat-
ter involving a very large sum of mon-
ey. My contention rested upon a con-
tract with that company, and in the pa-
pers filed in court upon my side of the
suit copies of this contract were includ-
ed, but the original had disappeared.

Without this document our case was
hopeless, and we had already been
driven to adopt veiled tactics of delay
fn the hope that it might be found. To
the best of my knowledge and belief
the contract— a very brief instrument
on a single sheet of paper— had been
lost in the office of my lawyers, but
there was a bare possibility that I had
dropped it in the street. I had taken
It out of my safe on a certain day
and, after collecting some other papers
relating to the caae, had started for my
lawyers. Arriving tnere, 1 had begun
to discuss the matter with a member
of the firm when we discovered the
absence of the contract, yet I was un-
der the imnression that I had had it

52

TRAPPING THE CULPRIT.

"YOU ABE HIGH UP HEBE, BUT I AM
H1GHEB."

iu my hand while sitting there with
him. He, too, believed that he had
seen it.

The mosi carerui search proved fu-
tile, and we were forced to the conclu-
sion that a clerk in his employ who
had entered the room during our con-
ference had taken the document for
the purpose of selling it to the enemy.
This man was shadowed with no re-
sult, and if he really sold it both he
and the purchaser were too shrewd for
us. The Lassell people continued some
negotiations for a settlement, but my
lawyer was of the opinion that this
was a "blind" and that they would
force us into court eventually, knowing
that we must lose.

But the story told by Lucius Wer-
ner put a different face on the matter.
I discussed it fully with my secretary,
who is a very shrewd fellow, and he
agreed with me that the man seen by
Mr. Werner was hunting for that con-
tract in my office.

If the Lassell people did not already
hold it, they must be very anxious to
get it, and as they had proved them-
selves utterly unscrupulous in their
transactions with me I was .quite will

mg to Deneve mat tney wouia empioy
criminal methods to win their case.

Alston, my secretary, suggested that
there might have been a small leak in
my lawyers' office sufficient to give the
Lassells the tip that the contract was
not there. They might then have
jumped to the conclusion that it was
worth while to engage in a bit of bur-
glary at my own headquarters. My
safe was one that my father bought
many years ago, retained by me I
know not why. Certainly I cherished
no illusions as to its security. Beyond
doubt a modern expert could open it
easily and without a trace of violence.
I never kept money in it except the
small sums needed for daily cash dis
bursements.

That night I watched with Werner in
his tower, and all conditions were fa-
vorable for observation, but no light
appeared in my windows. One of two
conclusions was possible — the Lassells'
emissary had already found the con-
tract or he had given it up. The chance
that he had skipped a night seemed
hardly worth considering in view of
all the circumstances that urged haste.

I did not believe that he had given
up the search. He had spent only an
hour each night in my rooms, and this
time seemed to me insufficient except
upon the supposition that he had found
what he was after. The time corre-
sponded with certain possibilities for
entering the building by a basement
door communicating with the engi-
neer's department. I discovered that
a man could get in that way a little
before 12 and escape a little after 1
without much risk of observation. I
had a man on watch there that night,
but without result. No suspicious per-
son attempted to enter.

There were, however, other ways in
which the thing might have been done,
as Werner pointed out to me. A man
might have concealed himself in the
building and remained till morning,
and this seemed the simpler way.

Upon the whole, I was driven toward
the conclusion that the contract had
been found, and my lawyer agreed
with me In a conference which we held
in my office late in the afternoon of the
day following my vigil in the weather
bureau's tower. It was nearly 7 o'clock
when this interview ended, and when I
came out of my private office I was
surprised to find Werner waiting for
me in the larger room.

He expressed a desire to discuss the
rase with me. and we spent half an

HOWARD FIELDING.

53

hour or more, but he offered only the
advice that I should watch once more
in his tower. I noticed, however, that
he scrutinized my room with great care,
examining the desk, and especially the
window, with a cool precision proper
to the man of scientific training, but
what he gained by these observations
I was far from guessing.

We dined together, and I watched
with him again, but my vigil was un-
rewarded. Finally, near dawn, I lay
down to sleep upon a couch and
dreamed bad dreams till I awoke to
find Werner standing beside me with
his hand upon my breast.

He provided me with a breakfast of
eggs and coffee, which he prepared
himself upon a queer little electric
contrivance, chiefly his own invention,
and then he asked to go with me to my
office. We were there ahead of the
boy whose duty it is to open the rooms,
and the youth was vastly surprised to
find me in my sanctum when he ar-
rived. Alston, who is an early bird,
was also amazed in his own peculiar
and cold fashion.

I made him acquainted with Werner,
whom he had not previously met, and
he extended his hand. Werner looked
at the hand as if it had been an object
of scientific interest, but he did not
take it. Instead he slowly wagged his
head with the negative sign.

"No, sir," said he. "I do not care to
take the hand of the man who robs his
benefactor."

The use of this word apprised me
that Werner had asked some questions
about John Alston, whom indeed I
had befriended in a somewhat unusual
manner, though the fact was not gen-
erally known. This inference flitted
through my brain in the midst of the
confusion and surprise caused by Wer-
ner's startling accusation. Meanwhile
Alston was regarding Werner with
some small signs of resentment, but
without alarm or any indication of
guilt

"Those are hard words, Mr. Werner,"
Bald I. "They must be instantly with-
drawn or justified."

"Tell me," replied Werner calmly,
"do you know any honest business that
would bring this man here by night
with a dark lantern?"

"There's no doubt about his business
If he was here," said I. "That's the
point."

"Last evening when I was here with
you I made some observations," said
Werner. "Will you step up on that

table and examine the casing of the
window?"

I glanced toward Alston and caught
just the faintest wavering gleam in his
eye, which led me to comply with Wer-
ner's request. I found what my friend,
the weather man, had previously seen
—some fresh marks upon the upper
part of the casing, strongly suggesting
that some covering had been tacked up
to cover the window.

"This rug," said Werner, "would an-
swer very nicely. Ah, here are the
marks in the corners."

"All this is very Interesting," inter-
posed Alston, "but I fail to see how it
conuects me with this matter."

"Who else knew that I had seen that
light in these windows?" demanded
Werner.

Alston smiled coldly, and inde«d the
evidence seemed weak, for it inirht

HE MADE A SUDDEN PASS AT WEKNEE.

well have occurred in the mind of any
burglarious visitor that he would bet-
ter screen the window. His shaded
lamp would indeed prevent a light from
showing through the glass over the
transom of the door to any watchman
who might pass by night along the
hall, but the glory must shine toward
the window if in the other direction.

54

TRAPPING THE CULPRIT.

"I trust you have better evidence
than this," said I.

"Very much better," answered Wer-
ner. "Mr. Alston, I will take your ham?,
now.'"

"No, I thank you," said Alston, witn
a sneer.

"Ah, you begin to see the trap in
which you are taken," rejoined Wer-
ner. "You are shrewd, sir, but you are
caught just the same. You cannot take
my mark from your hand."

He turned to me.

"I had observed already," said he,
"this match holder on your desk. I be-
lieved that with a match from it our
burglar lighted his lamp each time that
I saw him. Yesterday afternoon I pre-
pared some matches of the same ap-
pearance as these, but burning more
slowly, so that our friend would have
to hold them longer in his fingers. The
wood I soaked in a caustic solution, not
enough to burn the flesh. I wager that
you felt no pain, Mr. Alston, but your
forefinger and thumb are now discolor-
ed with that substance that I employed
for the purpose, and short of skinning
them, my dear sir, there's no way to
get it off. Oblige us by showing your
right hand.""

Alston's face, which is very pale ai
all times, became white as paper, but
with rage, not fear. He made a sud-
den pass at Werner, who cleverly
caught his wrist and held it firmly
despite the other's efforts. I stepped
forward and took hold of Alston's
hand. Dull brown stains upon the
thumb and finger revealed beyond pos-
sibility of doubt the action of Wer-
ner's magic.

"We were here last," said Werner.
"We came here first this moraine. Tf

nus man aid not get tnese stains nere
during the night, let him tell where he
did get them."

This was a question without an an-
swer. When a man's fingers are stain-
ed by a chemical selected by his ad-
versary, Its name unknown to the vic-
tim, a mighty good lie is necessary to
explain the circumstance. Alston sur-
rendered. He admitted that he had
seen the Lassell contract among some
letters taken from an old file box on
the afternoon of its disappearance.
When the loss became known to him
he guessed that I had accidentally put
away the contract with the letters, but
he had not been able to find out what
file box I had been using. He dared
not ask me lest the question should
convey a suggestion to my own mind,
and so, after debating the question
with himself for some time, he had
decided to search all the file boxes, a
most laborious task and one that he
dared not openly undertake.

He declared that he had intended to
give me the contract when he should
find it and depend upon my gratitude
for his reward, but investigation prov-
ed that he was in negotiation with the
Lassells. The contract was found in
the file box, and I won my case, for
which fortunate event I owe deep grat-
itude to Lucius Werner, who refuses
to be rewarded, but if ever he or any
person whom he cares for is in need of
help I will go a long way to render it.
Undoubtedly Alston would soon have
found the contract and have sold it to
the enemy for a good round sum. No
legal punishment was attempted, but
Alston wrecked his career by this
treachery and has gone steadily down
hill ever since.

The detective work of John J. Clancy and Charles H. Pilger would make Sherlock
Holmes turn green with envy. But then Holmes was only an amateur after all, and
could not be expected to do the fine professional work of our Trenton sleuths. Crooks
have but little show in the Capital City with such a wide-awake team as Clancy and
Pilger to round tbem up.

KING CHARLES AND QUEEN ELIZABETH OF ROUMANIA,
WHOSE PEASANTS ARE IN REVOLT.

King Charles and Queen Elizabeth of Roumania have escaped many of
the Ills that beset crowned heads, but the recent revolt of peasants in their
domains has placed them, it is believed, in a perilous position. They have been
closely guarded In their palace. Deeds of violence on the royal estates have
been committed during the uprising. Queen Elizabeth is much better known
outside of her own country than the king because of her literary work. She
Is noted as Carmen Sylva, a graceful poet

WON BY HIS NERVE.

By FRANK H. SWEET.

WHEN the daily niidseason
train rounded out from the
palmettos, slowed across the
bridge and came to a smooth,
almost suave stop at the end of the
Royal Poinciana, the usual people were
In attendance. An orchestra in the co-
coanut grove swelled out alluring
strains of welcome. From the docks
came the occasional creaking of yacht
sails. On the Poinciana steps, the plat-
form, in the grove, along the paths,
were scarlet coats and gauzy, summer-
like dresses and golf sticks.

Two private cars were in the train,
but except for a casual glance they
of the scarlet coats and gauzy dresses

"OH !" HE SAID. "GOOD MORNING."

did not notice them. Multimillionaires
had become a drug at Palm Beach.

Thus it was that the railroad mag-
nate of a dozen millions and the cod-

per king of tliree times as many walk-
ed from the cars with only the buzz-
ing, tip loving attendance of bell boys
and porters.

But the next morning the copper
king, who had registered as Henry
Tierman, Michigan, made a stronger
plea for local recognition. He went
fashing.

His own line had been thrown over-
board soon after leaving the dock, but
not a nibble came as an encourage-
ment for him to persevere.

"Gettin' tired, sir?" the boatman
asked.

"llather," Tierman confessed, yawn-
ing. "I don't believe I'm much of a
fisherman after all."

"That's 'cause you aiu't in practice,"
encouragingly.

Tierman assented by a nod, and the
boat was run alongside the Pitt's is-
land dock. Tierman stepped out, light-
ed a cigar and sauntered away into one
of the shadowy paths.

Half an hour later he found himself
near a cottage which was almost con-
cealed from the path and wholly from
the water. He passed around this and
down to the shore beyond. A young
man was seated upon the trunk of a
fallen rubber tree fishing. His hat
brim was drawn far down over his
eyes, as though to shield them from the
sun, but uo sunlight could penetrate
through the density of the overhanging
foliage. At the sound of approaching
footsteps he started and turned.

"Oh!" he said. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Tierman responded.
"Fishing to kill time, like the rest of
us?"

"No, hardly that," seating himself
again upon the tree trunk. "I knew
little of the art two weeks ago. Since
then I have fished quite a good deal."

Tierman's gaze left him and wan-
dered out across the water. He wanted
to be amused. Presently he sat down
upon the trunk and made some com-
ment about the fishing. The young
man answered shortly and with a
covert side glance of inquiry. But a
few moments later, as though the
scrutiny had been reassuring, he open-
ed a basket at his side and took from

58

WON BY HIS NERVE.

it an extra line, xms ne gave to "Her-
man and showed him how to make a
good cast.

At the Western Union office of the
Poinciana the little machine which
kept the guests in close touch with
the outside world was clicking along
industriously, and the boy who deliv-
ered the messages as they ran off was
taxed not to fall behind. Occasionally
an owner could not be found, and the
small envelopes would be brought back
and placed upon the desk, there to wait
another attempt at delivery later. Two
hours after the copper king left the
hotel one of these was brought back
with "Tierman not to be found; gone
to the inlet fishing."

The operator did not look up, but
with one hand he motioned the en-
velope from the undelivered pile.

"Seemed to be important," he said;
"must be delivered at once. Go find his
private secretary, his servant, any-
body of his party. If not able to do
that, take the message up the lake
yourself."

But that was not necessary, for as
the boy left the office he saw Tier-
man's secretary entering the rotunda
from outside. In less than ten min-
utes the secretary was hastening up
the lake at the maximum speed of the
fastest launch which could be pro-
cured.

He found the copper king on the tree
trunk, his face eager, his tones jovial.
On the ground lay four large fish, and
he had caught two of them. But at
sight of his secretary and the yellow
envelope his face clouded.

"Couldn't you wait till I got back?"
he exclaimed testily. "Don't you know
that an interruption now means bad
luck? I'll not catch another fish. Here,
give me the telegram!"

He read it with a gathering frown,
then thrust it impatiently into his
pocket.

"Wire Saunders to have extra vigi-
lance at all the port towns and along
the Canadian frontier," he grumbled.
"Offer twenty thousand— fifty thousand
—for the fellow's apprehension. But
of course Saunders understands and
has done everything that could be
done. There was no use bothering me.
Yes, that is all," as the secretary turn-
ed and then paused inquiringly. "You
may go now. I will not be down for
several hours. I want to catch an-
other fish."

He coiled his line as the young man
had shown him and threw it with all

nis strengtn. um tne ca'st w;ft"poor,
and he drew in and coiled and cast the
line once more. Then he resumed his
place on the log.

The young man was bending over,
watching his line. Apparently he had
not noticed the secretary's- presence or
his companion's impatience. Five min-
utes passed; then he drew in his line
and another large fish. Tierman watch-
ed him gloomily. Another five minutes,
and he, too, began to draw in his line,
but it was to wind it for departure.

"I'm going to quit," he declared.
"Luck's turned, and I might fish on all
day now without a bite."

The young man rose.

"It's too bad." he said, "but you've
made a good catch anyway. These fish
will be worth showing at the hotel."

Tierman's face brightened.

"That's so," he agreed. "I'll send the
boatman to get them. But if it hadn't
been for that fellow I might have
caught another." *

"Very likely. Did he bring bad
news?"

"Well, yes, in a money way," dryly,
"the difference between fifty thousand
and ten times that amount. You see,
It was this way: A man who was buy-
ing mining property for me disappeared
with what we thought about fifty thou-
sand. That was nearly a month ago.
Of course we took the usual precau-
tions against his leaving the country.
This telegram states that recent inves-
tigation has lifted the amount to half
a million."

"Ah, that was quite a haul. And the
fellow escaped?"

"So far, but he'll be caught all right,"
carelessly. "Folks don't find it easy
to do such things nowadays and get
off. Fifty thousand is a good bid for
vigilance, and, besides, we have some
of the best detectives on the lookout.
Every avenue from the country Is
guarded."

"Perhaps he slipped out ahead of the
guards."

"No; we got a clew of him at Now
Orleans only two weeks ago. He had
engaged passage on a sailing vessel for
South America, but grew suspicious
and did not make his appearance.
Shrewd of him, too," chuckling, "for
we had a detective on board waiting
for him. No, no; we'll have him all
right. He's in hiding somewhere, and
It's only a matter of time. But about
the fishing," abruptly. "We must have
some more of it together. I didn't
know that I was a fisherman, but It

FRANK H. SWEET.

59

"FORGOT TO ASK YOUB NAME,

Beems I am. Now, see Here, i naa my
steam yacht come down ahead of me.
It's at Miami iiow. Suppose I wire the
captain to run up and take us off for
a few days. Will you go?"

An odd look flashed into the youug
man's eyes, and he turned away for a
moment.

"The Moua?" he asked.

"Yes. You have heard of her?"

"Of course. I read the newspapers.
You are Mr. Tierman, sometimes called
the copper king of Michigan. And I
have read something about the man
you are looking for and formed an opin-
ion as to his whereabouts. You see,"
apologetically, "we detectives are al-
ways on the watch for such things and
read them up even when we don't ex-
pect to engage in them personally. I
came here for quiet, but the profession-
al Instinct is easily aroused. Ah, you
are ready to go. I will walk along with
you."

They went up past the cottage and
on through the semitropical growth to
the dock where Tierman's boat was
waiting. The young man walked with
a quick, springing step, the dreaming

nstiessness gone rrom nis eyes, as
soon as the boatman had been sent
back after the fish he placed a hand
upon his companion's arm.

"Look here, Mr. Tierman," he said,
with an odd, subtle challenge in his
voice which the other did not appre-
ciate until afterward; "I want to go
Into this thing."

"What— the fishing?"

"No; the finding of your man. I have
a theory which I think will bring him
to light, and I don't believe that any
of your other arrangements will. Fifty
thousand, I think you said. Is that for
news of him or his apprehension?"

"Either for positive news, his appre-
hension or a recovery of the booty."

"I see." He took pencil and paper
from his pocket as though to make
notes, then went on, "From what I
read in the papers you did not meeti
this man yourself?"

"No. I was in Europe and cabled for
Saunders to engage him. I had heard,
though, that he was a mining expert."

"So," apparently jotting the fact
down. "Now about the Mona. She is
ready to start at a moment's notice
and is seaworthy, I suppose?"

"Of course. She was built only last

year, and her captain has orders to be
ready to start within fifteen minutes
after receiving a telegram, i haven't
been out in her mvself vet. but the
captain says she is capable of "a voy-
age around the world. But what has
that to do with the fellow Bostwicke?"

"Everything. I want the Mona's help
to find him. Oh, I understand it's a
rather startling proposition," at the
look on the other's face, "but it's the
only one that fits into my plans. You
put the Moua under my charge for
two weeks, and I'll engage to find your
man. I'm positive I can do it. And I
won't ask for a penny of compensation
unless I do. Isn't that fair?"

"I suppose so," discontentedly. "But
my private yacht! Let me hire a tug
for you, or anything."

"Nothing but the Mona will do," pos-
itively. "Unless I can have her I will
drop the job. But think of the half
million, man, or we'll say four hundred
and fifty thousand, with the fifty out.
And I will need the Mona for only
two weeks."

But still Tierman hesitated.

"It isn't so much the money," he ob-
jected, "as it is the fishing. I've plan-
ned a lot of fishing since I caught those
two back there." Then his face clear-
ed. "SuDuose we have a few days iu

60

WON BY HIS NERVE.

tier before you go," he proposed; "then
you may have the Mona and welcome.
We can go out again after you get
back."

"And have Bostwicke escape us while
we are out?" asked the young man.
"No, no, Mr. Tiermau; the fishing must
wait. My theory is this: Bostwicke's
hope is one of the South American
ports, probably Paramaribo. There he
could be in close touch with the in-
terior, where he probably has friends
and where can be found a stirring fu-
ture for a man of enterprise and capi-
tal and where there would be little
danger from extradition papers. The
Mona is swift, and I could make the
run in a few days, find him and wire
you. Almost before you realized the
fact the mystery of Bostwicke's where-
abouts would be a thing of the past."

"Oh, you can have the yacht, of
course," yielded Tierman reluctantly,
"but I'm unwilling to admit," candidly,
"that just now I would rather catch a
few more big fish than even Bost-
wicke. But here comes the boatman.
I will give you a note to the captain
of the Mona, and you can go down to
Miami on the evening train."

"No; a better plan will be for you to
wire for him to steam this way at
once," said the young man hastily. "I
have a little business to attend to and
Mill then take a launch and meet him
clown opposite Lantana or tsoynton.
Have you a good description of this
man Bostwicke? Though, of course,"
with affected indifference, "I have a
general idea from reading the papers."

"Then you know as much as I do.
But why not run down to Miami? It
wouldn't delay you any, I think, and
the police there could give you infor-
mation and very likely show you a pic-
ture of the fellow."

But the young man laughed.

"I'd rather not, thank you," he said.
"Too many fingers in the broth, you
know. Perhaps it's professional jeal-
ousy, but I'd rather go through this
thing alone. Well, wire just as soon as
you can. I'll be ready to start in a
few hours."

The copper king stepped on board,
and the boatman raised and swung his
sail into the wind. Then as they bore
away from the dock: "Oh, say, I for-
got to ask your name. What shall I
wire?"

"Alson— Mr. Alson," the young man
called across the widening space, "and
wire the captain that I'll bear straight
down the coast. You'll hear from me
inside of two weeks."

He was better than his word. Only
eight days had passed when Tierman
received the expected message. Though
it brought the information promised,
the copper king's face clouded as his
eyes ran over the lines, and when he
finished he muttered discontentedly:
"Too bad! Too bad! We'll not go fish-
ing together after all." The message
read:

The man is here and is willing to give
up his booty. Indeed, he is very glad of
the chance. Two weeks' isolation with
himself brought some very pertinent
thoughts. However, he felt that he must
escape and that he could not live in exile
without the means of subsistence. So he
turned detective and went in search of
himself. Of course he brought the reward
along. The other four hundred and fifty
thousand will be found in a tin box two
feet underground at the northeast corner
of the Seminole hut on Pitt's island. The
Mona left here yesterday, and I strike
Into the interior this afternoon. Your
Wflllwisher, ALSON BOSTWICKE.

Paramaribo, March 30, 1900.

P. S.— I am sorry about the fishing.

MRS. WILLIAM INMAN, WHO MAY WED JAMES B. DUKE.

The widow of the late William Inman is a beautiful woman of New York
and Newport society, also well known in the south, whose name is now men-
tioned as the bride to be of J. B. Duke, the tobacco magnate. Rumors of
their engagement have been circulated. Mr. Duke, however, is not quite free
to marry, an appeal from his decree of divorce now being in the higher courts
of New Jersey. The decree .was granted last May. Mrs. Inman has been
reported engaged to several rich men from time to time.

THE FORTUNE HE BROUGHT TO

MARIGOLD.

By FRANK H. SWEET.

THERE was unmistakable excite-
ment on board the eastbound
train that morning. It began
on the platform when three
rough, unshaved men in miners' cos-
tume arrived and carefully superin-
tended the removal of their baggage
to the train. Two of them had theirs
consigned to the express car. The
third 'lowed he wouldn't bother no-
body and even refused assistance in
transferring his heavy, blanket bound
packages to the seat he was to occupy,
After the train started there wasl
glancing back over shoulders to see if
the miners were in sight, and, if they
were not, men rose carelessly and
walked backward or forward through
the cars until they found the objects
of their search and seats as near to
them as possible.

Strolling about tne platform bad
been two men who appeared to take
little interest in what was going ou
around them. Nevertheless, on the ap-
pearance of the miners they had ex-
changed significant glances and then
had walked nonchalantly in opposite
directions. When the conductor came
through to collect tickets, ten minutes
after the train started, one of them
was seated directly behind one of the
miners, while the other was on the op-
posite side of the car, behind the man
who had refused to be parted from his
baggage. As he took the tickets from
their long white fingers the conductor
scowled and glanced sharply at them
and the miner in front and then shook
his head grimly, as though it were no
business of his.

"From Klondike, I suppose, stran-
gers?" called a voice from some inde-
terminate point in front.

"With your piles, of course?" jocose-
ly added another.

This brought a general laugh.

"Do you mind telling us something
about the place?" insinuated a third.

"Is there as much gold as the papers
lead us to believe?" "What sort of win-
ters do you have?" "Is there any big
game?" in quick succession from va-
rious points.

The two men, who had consigned
their baggage to the express car. look-

ed anout ana nodded good naturedly.

"Yes; we're from Klondike," one of
them answered, "me and my partner
here. But we didn't bring our pile.
That's back in our claim under ten
feet of snow and ice. We're going for
it just as soon's the weather opens in
spring."

"Didn't you get anything?" asked
several in tones of disappointment.

"Oh, yes," indifferently. "Thirty
thousand or so apiece, back in the ex-
press car. But that ain't much for
Klondike. We count on three hundred
thousand. Then we're going home and
settle down to be comfortable."

"Has your friend done as well as
you and your partner?" asked a pas-
senger, nodding toward the third miner,
a little, sallow faced man who seemed

anxious to conceal himself behind his
Daggage".

"Him? S'pose you ask and see. I
reckon mebbe he can talk, If he don't
say much.

"Say, Georgy," raising his voice as
though to make it penetrate to the un-
derstanding of a very deaf person,
"these gentlemen want to know about
Klondike and have you made your
pile."

The man looked about with a pleased,
deprecatory smile.

"I 'low I have," he acknowledged
graciously. "Done made it in just
three months. Now I'm going home to
Georgy an' have a plumb good time an'
live like a lord."

"Good for you!" cried a wet goods
drummer approvingly. "But how'd you
do it so quick? Find a pocket?"

"Done it by straight hard work," he
declared proudly. "Down home in
Georgy folks say none o' my family
ever work. They 'low we're too shift-
less. Now, I reckon when we all buy
the old Hunter farm, where pap work-
ed all his life, an' set pap up to be a
gentleman they'll be s'prised. Yes,
sir!" He threw his head back, and for
one brief second looked the passengers
squarely In the face, all forgetful nf
tne two or tnree generations of servile
"poor white trash" blood which flowed
sluggishly through his veins. Then his
eyes dropped as he added apologetical-
ly, "Then I'll get married."

FRANK H. SWEET.

63

THE THIRD 'LOWED HE WOULDN'T BOTHER
NOBODY.

"What/" "KeaiiyV" "Is ttiat so 7"
from various parts of the car, and two
ladies who had hitherto ignored his
presence turned and gazed at him with
kindly interest. Georgia flushed with
embarrassment at such marked atten-
tion, but his sloping, apologetic shoul-
ders began to straighten up uncon-
sciously, and again his eyes flashed
straight into the eyes of his interloc-
utors.

"Yes, sir, I'm going to get married."
he reiterated. "Marigold an' me have
been set on it ten year. Most folks in
Breshtown, where I live, would 'a' been
satisfied with just a shack to start
with, but I always 'lowed that when
we married Marigold should live like
a lady an' me like a lord. That's what
roused me to go west. Now we'll buy
the Hunter place an' build a new house
with four rooms— four rooms," lower-
ing his voice a little and looking about
the car.

"But that will only take a very small
nart of vour monev." suggested the

drummer. "What will you do with all
the rest?"

"Put it aside," answered Georgia
promptly. "None o' my fambly ever
had any money put aside."

"You must have a pile," remarked a
portly man, glancing a little enviously
at the bulky packages and at the same
time comparing his own comfortable
need for money and appreciation of
It with this backwoodsman's evident
primitiveness.

"A pile! Yes, sir; that's what I keep
a-sayin' over to myself." agreed Geor-
gia. "I reckon there'll be enough for
all of us. None o' my fambly '11 ever
need any more."

All this time the two recipients of
the conductor's scowl had been appar-
ent uninterested spectators of what
was going on. One had tapped impa-
tiently upon his window, and the other
had fumbled with his newspaper. But
even in their Indifference they had ob-
served that the two miners who sat
together were strong, keen eyed, reso-
lute men, apparently able to hold their
own In all sorts of vicissitudes, while
the man from Georgia was simple, un-
sophisticated and in possession of all
his baggage.

Presently another significant look
was exchanged, and the one who had
been tapping upon the window rose
carelessly and crossed over to him of
the newspaper.

"Is this seat engaged?" he asked.

"No," removing a valise from the
seat to the floor and then folding his
newspaper as a preliminary to conver-
sation.

"Going far?"

"To Georgia."

"Really?" in feigned surprise. "Why,
I'm going there myself."

The miner in front turned eagerly
and gazed into their faces, but appar-
ently they did not notice him.

"Most inquisitive set of people in this
car I ever met," one of them remarked.

"Yes, anything but boring strangers
with questions, I say."

Georgia turned away, but his ears
remained vigilant.

At length on one of his rounds
through the car the conductor stopped
beside the two men whose fingers were
noticeably long and white and nerv-
ous.

"I believe your tickets ran out at the
last station?" he said inquiringly.

"Yes, but we've changed our minds,"
one of them answered easily. "Last
night I ran .across this man. an old

64

THE FORTUNE HE BROUGHT TO MARIGOLD.

friend of mine whom I hadn't seen In
twenty years. Now we're going on to-
gether for a visit to our old home in
Georgia. We'll pay the difference."

"H'm!" the conductor said coldly.
"Where to?"

"Breshtown, Ga."

The miner whirled with his mouth
open and his eyes bulging in eager-
ness. As soon as the conductor moved
away he blurted out:

"Doggone it, stranger, that's my
place. Who mout you be?"

"Smith and Robinson. My name's
Bill."

Georgia's face beamed with pleased
recognition.

"Why, I know heaps o' Smiths an'
Robinsons!" he cried, reaching over
and shaking hands with first one and
then the other. "I reckon you all are
some o' the family who went west
when boys. There was Tom an' Seth
an' Ike an'— an' "

"My friend here is named Ike,"
blandly.

"Ye don't say," delightedly. "Then
me an' him was old friends when we
was boys. He's changed, though,"
looking the man over curiously, "but,
then, folks do as they grow up. Well,
well, I'm plumb glad!"

There was no more reserve. Georgia
talked freely and was met with a cor-
diality that delighted his simple heart.

At last, as the shadows began to
darken in the car, the train slowed up
at a small unpainted building which a
brakeman introduced to the passengers
as Breshtown.

The men helped Georgia off with his
baggage and then piloted him to a
carriage which they had telegraphed
ahead to have in readiness. He lived
six miles from the station, he had told
them, and had frankly added that the
way led through a wild, almost unin-
habited forest. At this their eyes had
brightened hopefully, and they had as-
sured him that it would be unnecessary
for him to order a carriage. Theirs
would be large enough for all three,
including his baggage, and they were
going directly his way to their old
home.

Georgia was hilariously exuberant.
He laughed and sang and cracked jokes
that he remembered to have been time
honored in the old neighborhood, and
they sang and laughed with him untU
they came to a lonely place in tue
woods.

Then the carriage was turned auietlv

into the bushes, and Georgia felt the
cold muzzles of two revolvers pressing
against his temples.

"Now turn over your money," one of
the men ordered sternly, "and be quick
about it!"

Georgia looked at them in dazed won-
der to see if they were in earnest.

"Ain't you my old friend Ike?" he de-
manded.

"Not much. Out west we've got names
that would make vou shake in your

"NOW TDEN OVER YOUR MONEY," ONE OF
THE MEN ORDERED.

boots to hear. But that don't matter.
What we've come all this way for is
your money. Now pass it over quick,
and no fuss."

"I won't!" cried Georgia obstinately.
"I got it to buy the Hunter place an'
to get married with."

"Oh, well, just as you like." said the
man indifferently. "We'll kill you and
then take the money. It's all the same
to us. You can't help yourself."

Georgia turned white and glanced
appealingly from one to the other.
Thev were calm, smiling, but inmlaca-

FRANK H. SWEET.

65'

ble. Slowly he unbuckled the belt
from his waist and passed it to one ot
them. The man showed his teeth a
little, but nevertheless opened it and
counted the small roll of bills and
gold pieces that it contained.

"Six hundred and seventy-five dol-
lars," he said. Then he rolled the belt
and money into a ball and contemptu-
ously threw it into the bushes. "Now
we'll get right down to business," he
went on, the words beginning to hiss
as they came through his closed teeth.
"Give us your money."

"I have," wailed poor Georgia, al-
most hysterically — "every blamed
cent."

"Once more, give us your money."
the man insisted. "It is the last time
we ask. Killing comes next. Open
your bundles."

"But there ain't no money in 'em,"
eagerly. "See!" And he hurriedly cut
the string from one of the packages
and disclosed an assortment of bright
colored dress goods and ribbons and
laces. "I bought 'em for Marigold.
An' this," cutting the strings of an-
other bundle, "is full o' bead stuff
an Injin fixin's. I 'lowed Marigold
would like 'em. An' these other bun-
dles," cutting the strings from one
after the other as rapidly as possible,
"is full o' pretty rocks an' shells an'
things. Long's I had all the money I
wanted I 'lowed Marigold would like
'em better'n she would more gold"—

"And do you mean to say"— speak-
ing the words slowly and menacingly
—"that you brought all this stuff from
Alaska when you might have brought
gold?"

"Why, of course," wonderingly. "1
didn't need anv more gold. The

Hunter place imd be had tor two nun-
dred an' a four room house raised for
two hundred more, an' a mule' an' ker-
ridge an' cow an' all the rest bought
for a hundred an' fifty. That'll leave
a hundred an' fifty to put aside. Plenty
enoueh. laud knows. More'n any o'
my fambly ever had afore."

The rumble of a wagon could be
heard coming through the woods, and
a baffled, vindictive gleam came into
the men's eyes. For a moment they
glared at Georgia as though debating"
the question of a quick and signal re-
venge. Then the rumble grew louder,
and they suddenly sprang to the
ground and disappeared In the woods.
When a wagon came noisily round a
bend in the road Georgia was just
emerging from the bushes with his
belt and money. The money he slipped
into his pocket, the belt he rebuckled
around his waist.

"Howdy, Peke!" he called cheerily as
the driver of the wagon approached
near enough for recognition. "How
air ye? How's the folks?"

"Hey, that you?" in mild surprise
from the wagon. "When'd ye come?
Oh, I'm toler'ble, an' the folkses air
all well."

"An' Marigold?"

Peke grinned.

"Marigold's well too. Ast 'bout ye
t'other day."

Georgia sprang into his carriage ana
cracked his whip.

"See ye ag'in, Peke. Hain't no time
to fool now. G'lang there, you old
plug, you!"

The two vehicles moved apart, and
the foliage closed in between them,
and soon nothing could be heard but
the decreasing rumble of a wagon in
one direction and the impatient, soft-
ening cracks of a whip in the other.

||!lp?l5S^^S5S

PENNSYLVANIA AND NEW YORK CAPITOLS, WHICH CAUSED

GRAFT SCANDALS.

The two most populous states in the Union, New York and Pennsylvania,
have built new capitols within recent years, and charges of astounding graft
have followed the dedication of each. The Pennsylvania capitol at Harris-
burg, completed last year, is the latest. It is alleged that millions of dollars
were stolen In the construction of this building. A rigid investigation is being
made. The New York capitol at Albany, completed a few years ago, is said
to have cost the state $20,000,000, but there are plenty of contractors who
would like to duplicate it for half the money.

IN THE REALM OF FASHION.

Modish Fads and Fancies Noticeable
in Late Models.

"Early Victorian" is the phrase the
fashionable modiste uses to describe
the melange that makes up present
modes. That phrase as well as another
fits the situation, but does not give
credit to the Japanese motifs, which

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A GRACEFUL FRENCH MODEL.

are so evident iu the fashions of the
hour. The seamless sleeve of the kimo-
no rules, and nine wraps out of every
ten suggest the kingdom of Nippon.

Embroideries also have caught the
Japanese swing in design and treat-
ment, which is an excellent thing, for
In this field the clever orientals are
artists hard to equal.

Whether the wrap worn with one's
new costume is evolved from a kimono
or takes the form of a fichu or pele-
rine or some other truly Victorian

shape, it is apt to differ iu material
from the rest of the costume in tex-
ture, though matching it in color.

Often the trimmings of the gown
built of silk, wool or cotton voile will
be made of taffeta silk.

In this case the third piece is apt to
be a chic little wrap of the same silk,
and more often than not it is decorated
with embroideries which consist of a
good deal of fancy braiding, combined
with a few telling stitches.

Foulards are heralded as having once
more regained their place in the "smart
set" of dress materials and promise to
run the rough, woven pongees very
close as materials for summer tailor
mades.

Either silk is excellent for hard wear.

SHORT WAISTED EFFECT.

68

IN THE REALM OF FASHION.

and Dotn are to oe naa in tne crav-
enette finish, which makes them im-
pervious to rain or dust.

The rough silks are fashionably trim-
med with tartan plaids in taffeta, su-
rah or louisiiie. The foulards have gar-
nitures of linen . and cloth in fancy
tailored bands and shaped empiece-
ments. Not much lace is used as a
rule for silk tailor mades, though oc-
casionally one sees revers and cuffs of
Irish lace or lingerie sets of linen with
lace.

No material is too light or thin to be
pressed into service for the fancy tai-
lored suit. These are more often of
voile than of heavier stuffs, and mous-
eeline de soie makes the trimmings for
these as well as for broadcloth and
silk costumes.

Bands of mousseline braided with
narrow soutache or the square mesn
filet lace nets similarly braided or em-
broidered in darned work done in
heavy worsted, chenille or silk are seen
in many of the best of the newer
models. AMY VARNUM.

Snugness and Trigness Hall Marks of
Wash Frocks.

A noticeable snugness and tightness
is the hall mark of inr ny of the smart-
est tub gowns. The skirts are simply
treated, and their length widths are
unbroken except for a band of needle-
work above the hem or a few tucks in
a group. The top of the skirt is mount-
ed with a slight gathering frontward,
something more across the back, says
a writer in Vogue. The bodice, while
gathered, admits of no outward full-
ness, because the material is drawn
into the figure lines so snugly and
belted. A bolero of the same fabric,
short and very close fitting, embraces
the bust and gives an excellent effect
upon the figure, simple as it is.

There is a tailor suggestion about all
this, but the handiwork in finish takes
away the severity somewhat, as the
edge of the entire bolero is embroider-
ed by hand. So are the high chemisette
and stock and the turnover flat cuffs
of the elbow sleeve. It requires little
imagination to fancy bow becoming
such a gown may be with a bodice
belted in with rose pink ribbon and a
single pink rose of great beauty fas-
tened to the corsage just where the
bolero meets.

A straw hat, a cluster of roses and
some tulle, fresh white gloves and
shoes and a white embroidered parasol,
coupled with youth and beauty, make
as cantivatinc a picture.

FOR THE SMALL GIRL

Four-in-hand Ties Smart on Sailor
Suits.
The little tailored linen and duck
dresses in variations of the Russian
blouse and sailor style to be worn by
small girls this spring and summer dis-
play an added charm in the effective
disposition of the colored collar, cuffs,
belts or strappings in combination with

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"171 I'M

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A STYIilSH MODEL.

the white material of which the dress
is made. Hand embroideries in blind
effects are another feature of this type
of dress, while the narrow, stiff linen
collars to be worn with long and nar-
row four-in-hand ties are by far the
smartest trimmings in the new sea-
son's models.

A New Skirt Hanger.

A skirt does not always keep its
shape when an ordinary hanger is
used, and so one ingenious woman has
evolved the following simple arrange-
ment for accommodating a considera-
ble number of skirts in the smallest
possible space.

First she screwed in a few inches
from the back of the closet on each
side a small brass hook such as is
used in china closets.

The next step was to get a piece of

IN THE REALM OF FASHION.

69

strong inn sienuer cora long enougn
to extend across the closet from book
to hook.

On this cord she strung a dozen or
more large safety pins by running the
cord through the opening in the clasp
of the pin.

She folds her skirts exactly in half,
sticks the point of a pin through the
waistband at back, front and halfway
between these two points; then she
fastens the safety pins, and her skirts
hang in their natural folds, with little
strain and away from the wall.

The pins slide freely up and down
the cord, and skirts may be hung three
deep and not get crushed or wrinkled.

Colored Linen Popular.
Predictions indicate that more color-
ed linens than ever are to hold sway,
and indeed the prophecy has every^
thing in its favor for its ultimate ma-
terialization, for some of the smart-
est linen dresses that have been de-
signed this season were in soft colors
made on simple lines with no trim-
ming save a few stitched straps and
dashes of hand embroidery done with
coarse white linen thread. A good
many of these little frocks are made
with separate guimpes or chemisettes
with blouse and skirt attached by
means of a fitted girdle.

The Jeweled Slides.

Together with several other attrac-
tive fashions that have been revived
from those of our grandmothers' day
is that of wearing a band of black
velvet around the neck.

As usual, however, we go our grand-
mothers one better, and the becoming
band of velvet is made still more fetch-
ing by the addition of a jeweled slide.

These slides are of various shapes,
the one shown in the illustration being
one of the simpler designs. In some
the crosspieces are curved, while oth-

ers are so elaborately set with dia-
monds that they look quite like the one
time popular sunburst.

With the single stone in the center,
either a pearl or a diamond, the cross-
pieces of the slide are ttiickly set with

tiny stones, so mat the setting is
scarcely visible, and the effect is quite
stunning.

Some of the slides have little clasps
for joining tbe ribbon at the back of
the neck. This consists of a single
straight bar tbe same depth as that of
the slide, set in the same design. As
yet the slides are to be had only in the
most expensive jewelry, as the fashion
Is too new a one for them to have been
duplicated In cheaper stones.

Newest Leather Belts.

Wide soft belts are plaited into a
slender long buckle at the back and,
finished with a buckle in the front to
correspond, are popular. Coral and to-
paz and amethyst and cameos are
mounted on leather belts in dull shades,
which make the best of all back-
grounds for the shades in semiprecious
stones.

Often the smartness of the belt de-
pends upon the leather work rather
than upon the buckle, and skins of dif-
ferent colors and different finish are
combined with great success. Patent
is effective with dull finished leather,
and some of the prettiest of the new
belts are made of soft black patent
leather, with cutwork designs over dull
white kid.

The best of these models is compara-
tively narrow at the back and widens
Into a deep dip at the front. Another
patent leather belt has a line of gold
leather let in along the middle of the
belt, with a slender gold slide at the
back and corresponding buckle in front.
Another fashion is a belt of one leather
run through with narrow strips and
laces of contrasting leather. Altogeth-
er, the possessor of any pretty buckles
or slides cannot do better than to work
out her own belt to go in them, having
it accurately fitted as to the distance
of the holes, a thing next to impossible
to get right in buying.

To Save Starch.

After using cold water starch, let
what remains settle. Then pour off the
water and allow the starch to dry.
When dry, it can be replaced in the
starch box for future use.

To Prevent Brass From Tarnishing.

Dissolve an ounce of shellac in a pint
of methylated spirit. Cork the bottle
tightly, and leave it till next day. Then
pour off the clear liquid. Heat the
brass slightly and paint the solution
over it with a camel's hair brush.

THE INNOCENT BOY AND THE

BANJO.

By M. QUAD.

Humpy Skinner was on his way
home from school the other day, with
his usual innocent look on his face,
and he was passing a music store
when the dealer came to the door and
said:

"Sonny, you look to me like an inno-
cent boy."

"Yes, sir, I am," was the reply.

"I think you are a boy that can be
trusted."

"I know I am."

"Well, a man left a banjo here last
week to be repaired. It's all ready to
go home, but I have no one to send
with it. If I should give it into your

"HELLO, BUB! THAT'S A QUEEH KIND OP
HATBOX."

hands and promise you a quarter for
taking it to 232 Harrison street, I be-
lieve you would do the errand all
right."

"I surely would, sir."

"Very well. You had better go up to
Ninth street and take the crosstown
car. Here is the banjo in its box, and
when you return you shall have the
quarter."

Iiumuy started off in the highest

spirits. He Bad gone oliiy a diock
when he met that Thomas boy and
was saluted with:

"Hello, Hump! What you got there?"

"A banjo."

"It hain't yours?"

"Nope. I'm taking it up on Harrison
street for a music man."

"And he trusted you with a banjo,
did he?"

"Yep. He said I looked innocent and
honest."

"Well, I never! Say, Hump, I don't
want to make you vain, but can you find
anywhere in American history that
George Washington was trusted with a
banjo belonging to some one else? No,
sir, you can't. You are going right up
to the top as fast as you can go, and I
predict that they'll have your picture
in the papers in less 'n six months."

The boy and the banjo had gone a
block farther when they encountered a
street car conductor off duty and lean-
ing up against a wall on the corner.
He had had two or three drinks to keep
the bears off and was feeling good.

"Hello, bub! That's a queer sort of
hatbox!" he said as he reached out
for Humpy.

"It hain't no hatbox; it's a banjo in
there," was the reply.

"Is that so? Say, now, but I used to
beat the band playing on a banjo.
Once when I played to a crowd over
a hundred strong men broke down and
wept. I'll give you a tune."

"But you can't. The man told me
not to open the case."

"Never mind what the man told you,
sonny. I'm running this old car this
trip. I'll have you dancing before I
have played a dozen notes of 'Yankee
Doodle.' "

Humpy protested and hung on to the
box, but it would have been wrested
from hiin except that a policeman saw
the squabble from afar and came has-
tening up the street.

"Oh, well, he can go on with his old
banjo," said the conductor as he re-
leased his hold on the box. "All I
wanted was to play a few tunes and
liven up the old town a bit, but I'll
go inside and take two more drinks
instead." .

M. QUAD.

71

The officer told Humpy to hump
himself along, and his command was
obeyed. He reached Nintfl street with-
out further adventure and boarded a
car, but he was scarcely seated when a
woman beside him looked him over
very sharply and said:

"Boy, did the conductor take notice
of that box when you got on?"

"Yes'm. He asked me if I had a cat
in it, and I told him no."

"I hope you didn't lie to him. I was
on a street car once when a cat got
out of a basket and clawed my face,
and I have never got over the scare.
If you are carrying a cat"—

"It's a banjo, ma'am," explained
Humpy.

"I am glad to hear that, and I hope
you haven't lied to me. The box may
explode anyhow, and I wish you would
go farther up the car. I was on a car
once when a banio or sonaethiner else
in a box exploded, and I had my eye-
glasses blown off."

Humpy moved to the front of the car
and sat down beside a man who had
been nodding with sleep. The banjo
box happened to hit his knee, and he
aroused and looked around and de-
manded to know who had kicked him.
Then his eyes fell upon Humpy and
the box, and he said:

"Boy, I don't like it at all. I believe
you are an anarchist and making ready
to blow up this car."

"Banjos don't explode, do they?"
asked Humpy, with a smile.

"A banjo, eh? Aud what are you
doing with a banjo?"

"Taking it up to a man on Harrison
street." u

"Dm! It may be a banjo, and it may
be an infernal machine. Iu these days
we can't be too careful. A grocer
asked me to open a can of chicken the
other day, but I was too sharp for
him. When another fellow tried it, it
exploded and blew his arm off. We
will look at that supposed banjo."

"But I was told not to open the box,"
protested Humpy.

"Makes no difference, sonny. As a
freeborn American citizen I've got a
right to know whether I'm riding with
dynamite or musical instruments.
Oner iit»I"

"I shan't do it. It's a banjo, and
you can believe me or not."

"The plot thickens." whispered the
man as he assumed a knowing look.
And of a sudden he grabbed the box
and threw up the cover. Then an old-
ish man who had been reading a paper
laid it aside and said:

"I don't know why you couldn't have
taken the bov's wore]."

"I trust no one," replied the other.
"Rockefeller, Rogers and the rest of
us can't tell what minute we must con-
front danger. It seems to be a banjo,
but is it one? Has it got dynamite
concealed in its stomach? Are we
about to be greeted with the strains of
'Old Dan Tucker,' or are we to be
hurled into eternity without a mo-
ment's preparation?"

"You talk like a fool! Give the boy
the box and stop fooling."

"Oh, I talk like a fool, do I? Say,
now, you are an older man than I am,
aud you are baldheaded and bow leg-
ged, but you must apologize or there'll
be a row here."

"You go to with your apologies!"

Then the two men rose up and began
scrapping. Humpy tried to get the
banjo box, but it went down on the
floor between them and was stepped
on. The conductor came running, two
of the men passengers mixed in, and
five or six women set «p a screaming.
The row was over in five minutes, and
when Humpy could make out the ban-
jo he saw only a few strings and
snlinters of wood.

•*W-what am I going to do?" he ask-
ed of the conductor, who had had his
nose skinned in the fracas.

"Was It your banjo?"

"No. I was taking it somewhere for
a music dealer."

"My son, you look innocent and lamb-
like."

"And I am."

"There is no banjo; there is no box.
As there is no banjo and no box, there
can be no delivery. It isn't your fault.
It is what they call an act of provi-
dence, and no one is responsible. Just
drop off the car as easy a.i you can and
take that innocent and lamblike face
of yours home. If your dear mother
wants to know why you are pale faced
and shaky in the knees, tell her an
auto cut off your coattails. See?"

FOR THE HOUSEHOLD.

Hints for Beautifying the Home.

Among the pretty things popular
with makers of fancy work this season
are the lavender sachet and the hot
water bottle cover illustrated here-
with.

Linen is often used for this sachet,
but mousseline de soie is considered a
more appropriate material for the mod-
el, which is four inches wide and eight
inches long. After making the cover,
which is sewed all arouud, turn it in-
side out and outline a little pocket
with featherstitch in red silk to hold
the lavender. Finish it with red rib-
bon tied about the center and ending
in a bow on toD.

LAVENDER SACHET.

Letting Soap Dry Out.
The pet economy of a woman who
is a splendid manager in every respect
Is getting soap by the box and spread-
ing it out upon clean papers on the
storeroom floor to dry out thoroughly.
Some way the bars last a good deal
longer.

Happiness For Children.
If you make children happy now,
you will make them happy twenty
years hence by the memory of it-
Sydney Smith.

COVER FOR HOT WATER BOTTLE.

The cover of the bottle is made of
light blue eiderdown flannel, but any
attractive woolen goods will do as well.
The prime requisite of this cover is
that it must be considerably larger
than the bottle, so that the latter can
be easily slipped into it. The edge
may be overcast or bound with some
pretty wash ribbon that matches the
material. The bag should never be
more than half full of water, the heat
of which is better retained by means
of this soft cover than by the towel
ordinarily used to wrap it in.
Use For Daily Papers.

The careful housewife has a use for
everything, and the daily papers are
by no means an inconsiderable factor
toward insuring a clean kitchen. For
Instance, a supply of paper folded in
eight and hung up over the kitchen
sink will be found most convenient to
slip under a hot kettle that has just
been lifted from the stove, says Wom-
an's Life. A store of full sized sheets
should likewise be kept in the kitchen
table drawer, so that there is always
one bandy to spread over the table if
necessary during work, which can be
afterward burned.

FOR THE HOUSEHOLD.

73

When Buying Bananas.

When you are buying bananas, never
purchase the long, thin ones unless
you want fruit which will pucker your
mouth. No matter how well ripened
these thin bananas are, they will al-
ways be found both sour and acid.

That is because the bunch containing
them was picked too soon. The ba-
nana grows fastest at first in length.
When it has reached its fullest devel-
opment in that direction, it suddenly
begins to swell and in a few days will
double its girth.

At the same time very rotund ba-
nanas should be avoided, for many
knowing venders can produce this ef-
fect on the fruit by artificial means.

Vogue's Vagaries.

The 1906-07 woman has decided
upon three vagaries for her tailored
appearance. Her separate waists and
boots, with colored tops and curved
heels, are among them. The first named
article may be a plaided silk waist of
simple form and trimmings, or it may
be made of flue liueu modeled in shirt
style, but frilled down its front with a
fine lace edged, knife plaited double
frill, with tiny yoke tucks hand run,
giving breadth to the shoulders. To
be de rigueur the seams must be hem-
stitched, while the collar worn with it
should be of stiffened linen, dicky style,
heavily embroidered and tied with a
tiny bow.

me dainty little sun "hat can easily
be made at home in a couple of even-

BABT'S SUN HAT.

ings. It is made of heavy white linen
embroidered in scallops and dots. It
will outwear several straw or swiss
hats.

To Wash China Silk.
To wash black and fast colored china
and taffeta silks pour a quart of house-
hold ammouia into a twelve quart pail
of warm, not hot, water, in which suds
have been made with castile soap.
Wash the fadeless silks in this and
rinse thoroughly in clear soft water.
Before the material is quite dry smooth
it on the wrong side with a moderately
hot iron. A silk that is not fast col-
ored cannot be wet without injury to
the dye, but sometimes another color
or a neutral tone that will be more
artistic and satisfactory than the origi-
nal tint may be produced by washing
as above.

New Lamps For Old.

Almost every lamp needs boiling oc-
casionally when the light burns dimly,
and no attention to oil or wick will
make any difference.

Take the lamp apart, remove the
wick and then boil both burner and
wick in hot water in which has been
thrown some washing soda.

When every part has been thoroughly
cleaned and as thoroughly dried, put in
the wick, trim it, fill the lamp with oil
and the light will be brilliant.

Amusement For the Tots.
However soon children tire of play-
ing with toys, they always find endless
amusement in making new playthings
for themselves. The fabrication of pa-
per dolls out of colored fashion plates
is a work which will easily serve to
pass away a wet afternoon in the
uursery. The figures should be cut
ueatly round, pasted on to cardboard
and this in turn cut out, so as to stiffen
the figures, says Woman's Life. The
arms and legs can be made to move if
these are divided in the first instance,
mounted separately on cardboard and
attached to the dolls by means of small
paper fasteners, the heads being treat-
ed in like manner.

Labor Saving Embroidery.
Odd new initials have just been in-
vented, an ingenious way of getting
an effect without having to do the
work usually associated with that ef-
fect. These are letters— big or little
affairs, depending upon what you want
them to mark— already embroidered,
ready to apply to towel or sheet or
napkin. A few careful stitches set
them firmly in place, and the tip ends
are embroidered in a soft cotton, the
same sort as the initials themselves
are done with.

HUMOR OF THE HOUR.

Gleaned from the Fun Makers.

Diplomacy.

The late Thomas Nolan, a well known
member of the bar of New York, was
once retained as counsel for a poor
widow named Mulcahy. She was suing
a construction company for damages
by reason of her husband's death re-
sulting from injuries sustained in the
company's service. The case had been
frequently postponed, so that it was In
a very disturbed state of mind that the
Widow sought the lawyer just before
the suit came up for the eighth time.

In court the next day Nolan's rich
brogue was more than usually fervid
as he fought against the further ad-
journment of the case.

"I am sorry," said the justice presid-
ing, "but, Mr. Nolan, your opponent
has shown good cause for adjourn-
ment. The case will therefore go over
till next week."

"Very well, sor," said the lawyer
sweetly, "but might I ask wan per-
sonal favor-r of this court?"

"Certainly," replied the judge.

"Will your honor kindly shtep down
to my office and tell Mrs. Mulcahy that
you have again adjourned the case?"

Out of the Question.

"But," said Hammer, "if your wife
treats you so badly, why don't you get
i divorce from her?"

"Oh, gracious," replied Henpeck, "I
wouldn't dare ask her for that! I'm
sure she wouldn't give it to me."

Booming.

Broadstreet— How's your company
getting on, old man— prospering?

Nassau— Prospering! My boy, the
term is inadequate. Why, we're about
to be indicted in thirty states!— Judge.

Before the Battle.

Mrs. Gasser— I was outspoken in my
sentiments at the club this afternoon.

Mr. Gasser— I can't believe it! Who
outspoke you, my dear?— Puck.

Too Wet.

The crew of a certain life saving
station on the New England coast has
had little to do of late because of the
rarity of wrecks in that immediate vi-
cinity. Nevertheless the crew had in
the past frequently proved its bravery
and efficiency.

The practice drills of the crew last
Bummer drew much satirical comment
from the people at the summer resorts
near by, who looked upon such prac-
tice as an entertainment devised for
their especial amusement.

One rainy day at the appointed time
the crew failed to appear at practice.
The summer boarders on the veranda
of the hotel waited in vain for the ex-
hibition which should vary the monot-
ony of a dull day. Finally one of them
went over to the quarters of the crew
to learn the reason.

"Aren't you going to practice today?"
asked he.

"Not today, sir."

"Why not?"

Then the brave life saver, hero of
many rough seas in the past, made an
explanatory gesture toward the sky
and said:

"What, in this rain?" — Harper's

Rough on Reggy.

Reggy Sapp— Aw, I have tried every-
thing else, and now I think I will try
the mind cure. I wonder what I should
do first?

Miss Tabasco— Get a mind.— Chicago
News.

Some Difference.

"Did I understand you to say that my
appearance has improved?"

"No; I said you looked more like
yourself."— New York Life.

Going and Coming.

"The financial news says 'money is
easier now.' "

"I guess that must mean it goes
easier. I certainly haven't noticed that
it comes that way." — Boston Tran-
script.

The Problem.

"Miss Smith has written a problem
novel, hasn't she?"

"Yes."

"What is the problem ?"

"How to make it sell."— New York
Life.

HUMOR OF THE HOUR.

75

Rejected.

Editor's Son (rejecting the proffered
pudding)— Owing to unusual pressure
on our space we regret being unable to
entertain your proposal, while thank-
ing you for letting us see it— London
Opinion.

Saxe and Holmes.
The poet John G. Saxe and Oliver
Wendell Holmes were talking about
brain fever, when Mr. Saxe remarked.
"I once had a severe attack of brain
fever myself." "How could you have
brain fever?" asked Dr. Holmes, smil
lng: "it is only strong brains that have
brain fever." "How did you find that
out?" asked Saxe.

A Wall Street Chart.
You buy a hundred shares of stock

Tour fortune fine to crown,
And with the most unerring aim
It
goes

right

down.

Tou think to sell a hundred short

And drink of fortune's cup,
And with a most unseemly speed
up.
right
walks
It

Tou plan to catch It either way,

A very knowing cuss,
And with amazing promptitude

It saws

whip- tlius.

No matter what you try to do,
Tou' re certain to be caught;

Tour margin once so big and fat
Will shrink to 0.

So He Doesn't.

If I meant what I said
When 1 happen to speak,
They would think me a freak

And not right in my head.

I'd be blamed to as great
Or a greater extent

And arouse as much hate
If 1 said what I meant.

If I said what I meant.

All my friends I would lose.

If that course I should choose,
I would surely repent.
I would have to be dumb

Or considered ill bred
By acquaintance and chum

If I meant what I said.

It is sad, I must say.

But it never would do.

Speech can never be true
In a literal way.
My approach you would dread;

That is quite evident.
If I meant what I said.

If I said what I meant.

— Chicago News.

The Club Joker.

Joker— Have you heard the story of
the bed?
Victim— No.
Joker— There you lie!— Tatler.

Missed Her.

"How is your afternoon bridge club
coming on?"

"Oh, very poorly. Dear Mrs. Gab-
bler has left us."

"But I thought she was an atrocious
player?"

"Yes, she is. But, then, she always
had so many delicious stories to tell
tbout her neighbors."— Cleveland Plain
Dealer

THE ACME MAGAZINE.

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DENTIST

Crown and Bridge=Work
a Specialty

42 WEST STATE STREET
TRENTON, N. J.

APPEARANCE

b&ftSu HIGH STANDARD PAINT

has most beautiful colors. We help you to select right
combinations.

"Before you Point '. "Attractive Homes*and the "Color

Card 'tell about it.

GUSTAV WINKLER

Manufacturer of High-Grade PIANOS
Send for Catalogue. 219 E. State St., Trenton, N. J.

If you want good Fruit to send to a sick
friend, get it at

DHVID PLOUGH'S
198 South Broad Street, Trenton, N. J.

John Severns

DEALER IN

FINE WINES AND LIQUORS

Bell 'Phone 1787-D

No. 7 So. Warren St.
TRENTON, N. J.

TILE, MANTELS
AND GRATES

John C. Hills

"The Tile Man"

139 Academy Street

TRENTON, N. J.

Ask for Designs and Estimates

When writing or buying from advertisers please mention this magazine

CLASSIFIED ADVERTISING SERVICE

Four Lines for $1.00; Additional Lines, 20 Cents.

MUSIC.

W. E. RUE SCHOOL OF MUSIC, 19 and 21
E. State St., Trenton, N. J. Instructions given
on Violin, Mandolin, Guitar and Banjo. We
give any of the above-named instruments free
to any one taking lessons.

BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES.

POSITIONS OPEN for Bookkeepers, Civil
Engineers, Electrical Engineers, Draughtsmen
and Clerical men. Call or address 162 So. Broad
St., Trenton, N. J.

AN OPPORTUNITY LOST means Ijss of
money. Here's your opportunity. Get wise ;
enquire, "L,'- 162 South Broad Street, Trenton,
New lersey.

TYPEWRITERS' SUPPLIES.

TYPEWRITERS— Large assortment of slight-
ly used machines, Smith Premier's, and Reming-
tons ; some visible writers; all machines guar-
anteed ; $10 to $40. Fow Typewriter Co., Fischer
Building, Trenton, N. J.

EMPLOYMENT.

CLERICAL POSITIONS OPEN.

The demand for first class office men always
exceeds the supply. We need at once capable
Accountants, Bookkeepers, Cashiers, Cost and
Shipping Clerks, Collectors, Correspondents, Pri-
vate Secretaries ; salaries $800-$3000. Openings
for Salesmen, Executive and Technical men and
men having money to invest with their services.
Write us to-day stating position desired. Offices
in 12 cities.

HAPGOODS (Inc.) Brain Brokers.

1212 Commonwealth Trust Bidg., Philadelphia.

INSURANCE.

WE ISSUE A special contract covering gaso-
lin explosion and electric automobiles against
any fire loss, no matter where the machine may
be, within the limits of the United States Wal-
ter F. Smith, 203 E State St., Trenton, N J.

FIRE INSURANCE, Real Estate and Indem-
nity Bonds. A. L. Worthington's Sons, 144 E.
State St , Trenton, N. J.

RESTAURANTS.

FOR A DAINTY LUNCH, or good German
cooking, visit J. F. Margerum's, 25 and 27 E.
Hanover St , Trenton, N. J.

FINANCIAL.

THE TRENTON TRUST AND SAFE DE-
posit Co., 26-28 West State St., pays 1% per cent,
interest on active, and 3 per cent, interest on in-
active accounts.

EDMUND C HILL & CO., 7 West State St.,
Trenton, N. J., are making a specialty of "guar-
anteed mortgages," which are offered to invest-
ors at face value and accrued interest. They
bear interest at five per cent., free from tax, and
carry with them Hill & Co,'s guarantee for pay-
ment of interest and taxes for a fixed term of
years.

AO.ENTS.

SALESMEN WANTED— Permanent position,
to sell United States and World Reversible Map ;
size 66x47 inches ; two maps in one ; Oklahoma
shown on United States map as a state ; repre-
sentatives now at work making $25 to $50 per
week. Address Rand, McNally & Company,
142 Fifth Avenue, New York.

CARPETS.

RUGS AND CARPETS cleaned by the com-
pressed air method. All work guaranteed
Joseph H. Sands, 202 Jackson Street, Trenton,
New Jersey.

PIANOS.

GUSTAV WINKLER, Manufacturer of High-
Grade Pianos. Send tor Catalogue 219 E. State
St., Trenton, N. J.

FRUIT.

IF YOU WANT GOOD FRUIT to send to a
sicfe friend, get it at David Plough's, 198 South
Broad St., 1 renton, N. J.

DENTISTS.

DR. ALLISON R. LAWSHE, Crown and
Bridge work a specialty 42 W. State St , Tren-
ton, N. J.

It hen writing or buying from advertisers please mention this magazine.

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The next number of THE ACME will contain a prize story, by

Mrs. F. J. RUTTER.

This will be followed by another, from the pen of

H. J. WELSH.

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will contain a host of good stories and special articles of

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)